


The Keys to Your Healing Heart

by MyFirstistheFourth



Series: Claiming the Doctor's Heart [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Cum Play, Dom/sub, Face-Fucking, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Riding Crops, Rimming, Romance, Rough Sex, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:52:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 101,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyFirstistheFourth/pseuds/MyFirstistheFourth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Sequel to Shelter Your Wounded Heart* A year has passed, John and Mycroft's unique relationship continues and both have grown ever closer. As they prepare to make a big change in their lives, Sherlock's return will shake the relationship to the core. Who will win John's heart now, or is there another way? Rated Explicit for M/M slash and Dom/sub themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** For those who enjoyed my first foray into Johncroft, a sequel was requested. I really wasn't sure I ever intended to write one BUT then  **Spades** (FF) sent me the most wonderful review full of excitement over the story. She then proceeded to (I Swear!) Breed the Evil little plot bunnies and virtually Hurled them at me via PMs! Whereupon my brain simply Ran away with them and Now, Here is the start of our sequel! My most Gracious Thanks to  **Spades**  for all the encouragement, reading, suggestions, and excitement that have kept me writing this tale! She's a Right fair writer herself so you should give her a read sometime as well! :-D For those fans of the odd pairings, I hope you enjoy!

{*} {*} {*}

John wrapped the black silk robe more snugly around him as he gazed out of the manor's Gothic style windows to the grounds below. It looked to be the start of a beautiful day as the sun drove the morning fog from the perfectly manicured gardens. John wasn't even aware of the smile on his face as he lost himself in thoughts and memories. It had been a wonderful weekend here at the country house, a rare chance to get away from the demands of the city and just be alone with Mycroft. He often felt he needed to pinch himself, as though this idyllic life he had now would turn out to all be a dream. Hard to believe he had been prepared to die only a year ago, before Mycroft saved him and literally changed his life. He was happier now than he had ever hoped to be. Yes, London was calling them back soon enough, back to the townhouse, the flat. and work but John was determined to enjoy the last remnants of this weekend, including being royally fucked in the shower by Mycroft. As he shifted his weight from one foot to the other the subtle shift of the thick plug in his well-fucked ass kept John in a constant state of subdued arousal as he recalled their earlier activities. He would never have dreamed the changes his relationship with Mycroft would bring about but remained grateful. What started as a physical relationship and one-sided love affair, had truly grown into mutually returned love and affection. John found himself in a reflective mood on this anniversary, recalling the journey he and Mycroft had taken together and what he wished to do about it now.

Long arms snaking around his waist broke the reverie of his mind as a soft, warm kiss landed behind his ear. John happily leaned against the warm chest behind him and shuddered as Mycroft's silky voice caressed his ear.

"What has you so distracted this morning? You didn't even hear me come in and get dressed."

John turned in the circle of arms and brought his own up to wrap around Mycroft's neck, smiling as he teased his lover. "I was just thinking of this great weekend I once had and the most amazing sex ever," he sighed dramatically, "Just the best ever…..I really, Really should look that guy up again."

Mycroft smirked, well used to John's cheek by now, "Mmm...yes. Anyone I should know?"

John gave up the tease with a chuckle, "I certainly hope so." Tugging gently and raising up himself up he claimed Mycroft's lips for a kiss. He truly intended it just as a quick kiss but funny things happened when they came together. John still couldn't believe his luck or the amazing chemistry he and Mycroft shared. So he couldn't say he was surprised when Mycroft took control of the kiss and deepened it.

Mycroft simply couldn't resist John, naked except for black silk, and wrapped in his arms kissing him. With his left hand in John's hair, he tasted the willing mouth deeply. Drinking John in like a thirsty man in the desert seeking water, even though he had just had him most thoroughly half an hour ago. A whole year and he was convinced he would never get enough of John. His right hand roamed possessively over the strong back coming at last to grope the magnificent silk covered ass. John was already moaning softly into the kiss, his renewed erection pressing into Mycroft's thigh. When his fingertips brushed the edge of the plug he had put in John after their round in the shower, he couldn't resist. Cupping his hand fully over the base and pressing the plug deeper over and over in a pulsing motion, drawing John tightly into his body as he did so.

John ripped himself away from the kiss moaning loudly at the stimulation and grinding his erection into Mycroft. "Oh God My! Ohhh….yes...more, Please more!"

Even now John remained immediately responsive to Mycroft's touch. He continued the slight push and pull to John's ass as his lips and tongue traced over the throbbing pulse in the throat before him, delighting in the trembling body he held. Lowering his voice in a way he knew drove John wild he murmured urgently against his ear, the hot panting respirations of John's arousal puffing against his cheek as he spoke. "Do you know how much pleasure it gives me to think of you walking around all day like this? Going about your work, your patients unaware that the unassuming doctor has a plug up his ass keeping him filled with his lover's cum. Being able to show up and fuck you whenever I want, wherever I want because you are always ready for me. It is the most sinfully decadent pleasure of my day John." John could only whimper in response, still grinding his hips urgently. Mycroft knew he was close but couldn't have him come this way as he was already dressed in his suit. Deciding on an alternative course of action he quickly spun John around against the window. "Hands on the frame John, spread your legs a little," he commanded and John immediately complied. Pressing himself along John's right side, he used his left hand to continue pulsing the plug against the prostate while he used his right hand and the end of the silk robe to grip the leaking cock and begin stroking steadily.

John groaned loudly, the sensation of the soft cool silk and Mycroft's firm grip slipping over his hot hard erection, coupled with the plug pressing against his prostate, brought him rapidly to the edge. Even when not actively playing Mycroft's training still held him back, panting and aching to come.

Ever attentive, Mycroft was quick to sense the need, "Don't John. Don't hold back. I want to see you. Let it go John…..come for me."

John sighed and came with a cry, arms shaking against the window frame and legs trembling, but as always Mycroft was there and held him through it. It was an unexpectedly amazing orgasm. As soon as John's ragged breathing slowed, he exclaimed in wonder, "God My what you do to me," before pulling Mycroft into another scorching kiss.

When they parted Mycroft smiled, "I can assure you the feeling is quite mutual John. Now perhaps you can assist me as well love. I should like to make it to the office without a certain impediment."

Taking in the impressive erection tenting the expensive trousers and his soiled robe rapidly congealing into a cold clammy mess, John quickly assessed his options. Locking his eyes with Mycroft's, his hands reached for the belt securing his robe. Slowly he untied the robe and parted it over his chest, letting it fall to the floor in an inky puddle behind him John fell to his knees without another word. Mycroft didn't bother to hide his appreciation as his cock twitched in response at the sight. Making short work of the trousers fastenings, John soon had the swollen cock in his hand stroking lightly. Smiling he finally replied, "It will be my pleasure," before taking the cock in his mouth and beginning to suck. He knew just how to bring him off quickly; teasing his tongue against the frenulum and swirling it around the head, taking him deep, humming low in his throat and swallowing around the length, but he knew what would give Mycroft the fastest release. Pulling off with a wet pop he looked up, "Use me My. Fuck my mouth and throat…...fuck me hard and let me taste you."

Mycroft didn't need to be told twice, the sight of John naked at his feet swallowing his cock was one of his favorite thrills and had him on edge almost from the start. Taking a firm hold on either side of John's head he rubbed the tip of his leaking cock along those red, swollen lips until they parted for him, then he thrust deep into the moist heat and held it there. He loved seeing his cock buried deep in John's throat and he reached around to stroke against the distended area. Cupping John's jaw with one hand he began to fuck in and out with quick, sharp, deep thrusts. John had improved even more this year and took him deep in his throat without distress, the flaring of his nostrils as he breathed through his nose still an absolute turn on for Mycroft. He watched his large cock disappearing over and over into John's wet suckling mouth and found his release rapidly. With a loud groan and a grunt he poured his cum down John's throat in long, shuddering pulses. John pulled off, gently sucking him clean before tucking him back into his pants and fastening his trousers. Mycroft offered his hand to help John off of the floor and couldn't resist a quick kiss to taste himself on the others tongue. Sadly, duty was calling so he forced himself to pull away. Retrieving his jacket from the foot of the bed he addressed plans for the day.

"Will you be riding in with me? I have an early meeting with the French ambassador to get to."

John casually leaned against the window completely unabashed in his nudity, "No not today I'm afraid. I don't have any early appointments so I was planning to have breakfast here before heading back to town. I have some things to tend to before tonight but I'll be in to the Diogenes later. Maybe we can have lunch or tea if that works better with your schedule. But you definitely have tonight free right?" He had asked Mycroft especially to arrange to be free tonight. He wasn't even sure if Mycroft realized what day it was but he had made special plans for them at 221B, returning them to where it all began.

"Certainly John. I have cleared my schedule this evening and early tomorrow even. My engagements today will rule out lunch I'm afraid, but tea should be a possibility.

John smiled his broadest, happiest smile, "Then I shall look forward to it." With a quick kiss and a swat to his rear, John urged Mycroft out the door. "Now get going before that bed becomes far too tempting again! I will see you later."

Mycroft chuckled as he returned the kiss, "Indeed, my dear. Indeed!" He gathered his things and left quickly because the temptation was a very real possibility. Leaving John to dress, eat, and contemplate the day.

{*} {*} {*}

John dressed quickly after Mycroft left because he actually did have things to see about. Tonight had to be perfect. He packed up what he needed to take back to town with him and, with a last wistful look around the room, carried his bag downstairs to see about breakfast. The staff would normally prepare something but John had actually asked Mycroft to give them the weekend off so they could be truly alone. Besides, he enjoyed cooking for Mycroft. Since the staff wouldn't be back until later this morning, John whipped up a quick omelette, toast, fresh fruit and tea for himself and sat at the kitchen counter to eat. The dining room was just too large for him alone. As he ate he found his mind recalling the past year again, it was not a smooth road from then to now but well worth the journey.

Mycroft had learned early on that John would need more care and attention than he had even anticipated to be able to recover from the trauma of Sherlock's death. He worked from home for the first week to help John acclimate to the house and routines as well as set up his outpatient counseling. John was still emotionally fragile and often needed Mycroft's dominance to reassure him and ground him. Being able to submit completely to Mycroft freed him from the constant torment of his mind, he could simply stop thinking at all and just be in that space knowing that he would be safe and protected. His trust in Mycroft had become complete very quickly and he looked to him for guidance anytime he felt unsure. The frequent sex and orgasms exhausted him enough to allow him to sleep well for the first time in months, his color improving and the dark circles under his eyes disappearing.

It was five days before Mycroft found out about the dreams, summoned from his study by the screaming from a supposedly napping John. He was confronted with John thrashing around the bed, sweating, crying, and screaming, "Sherlock, NO!" and "STOP! JUST STOP!" along with the softer, "Please don't leave me behind!" and the nearly whispered, "I love you." Mycroft knew John still loved Sherlock, that he still suffered and grieved, he simply had not been faced with the depth of it before. No wonder John had wanted to escape so badly he had nearly killed himself. Mycroft knew when he started this that John didn't love him, but he loved John enough to do this because he needed him to survive. Without another thought he crawled into bed with John. Wrapping his arms around him and putting one leg over his, he spooned him snugly against his body to stop the thrashing and began to speak calmly and softly into John's ear. "Shh..it's okay John. I'm here, I'll take care of you. You'll be okay now. Shh….calm down." He had unconsciously started to rock back and forth holding John trying to soothe him. John never woke up fully but gradually calmed, easing out of the nightmare. When John did wake up he was surprised to find Mycroft dozing next to him but remembered nothing about the nightmare.

Mycroft alerted John's therapist and arranged to work from home another week.

It wasn't until he returned to the office the third week that he found out about the eating problem. John had given no indication of any such problem while Mycroft was home, and he had breakfast with him every morning before he went to work. He kept tabs on John during the day via video and check-ins with the staff. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, John still did little with himself beyond roam the house and sit in a chair pretending to read a book. He avoided the television or the newspapers for fear of seeing more headlines about Sherlock, but he simply had no motivation to do anything else. So it came as an unsettling surprise to receive a phone call from his head of security alerting him that John was being taken to the hospital after being found unconscious on the bedroom floor. At Mycroft's near frantic questioning, the man assured him that there were no injuries on John nor any pills around. It appeared he had simply passed out but they didn't know why. The hospital determined John was dehydrated, anemic, and hypoglycemic, all of which contributed to him passing out. They would be keeping him overnight to give some fluids and nutrients. John would not meet Mycroft's eyes nor would he answer any questions no matter what tactic he tried. Something was going on and he had to find out what. Leaving John in the care of the hospital, Mycroft went home to question his staff. No one could tell him anything unusual until he got to the maid. She told him that John was sick in the bathroom every morning after he went to work and if he managed to eat anything during the day he was usually sick after that as well. When asked why she hadn't reported it, she said she simply thought John had a virus of some kind. So either John was forcing himself to be sick or his grief and anxiety combined were making it difficult for him to actually stomach food.

When Mycroft returned to the hospital he was able to confront the matter more directly, questioning John about the maid's report. John was stubborn and evasive not wanting to answer the questions. Mycroft finally resorted to binding his wrists and clasping his neck to ground him before ordering him to answer the questions. It had all boiled down to anxiety and fear. Right now John was relying on Mycroft far more than he even realized, believing he was the only thing keeping him alive day-to-day. When Mycroft returned to working in the office, John was left alone with his thoughts in the large townhouse. It didn't take long for the dark pull of depressive thoughts to overtake him. He had become fearful that he would go in search of some other means of escape again. And that was just the first day. He was fine as long as Mycroft was there but as soon as he was alone the anxiety soared again. His stomach being already weakened from the previous months of grief and starvation simply couldn't handle the added anxiety.

Mycroft alerted the therapist once again and arranged to be at home with John through the end of the month. Mycroft made sure John ate well when he was with him and that he was able to keep it down. Anti-anxiety meds were prescribed and John's counseling appointments were scheduled more frequently to get him out of the house when Mycroft had to leave for work. Greg would come over more often during his off time, giving up on coaxing John out to the pub for now after Mycroft explained the effect the press and public still had on John. If his work consisted of mostly paperwork that day, Mycroft would take John with him to his office in the Diogenes for the day. Everything they could do to ease John's anxiety was done and in time he became more secure in his situation, the meds were gradually withdrawn, and the problem eventually resolved.

John shook his head in wonder remembering those rough first weeks. He didn't think he could ever thank Mycroft enough for being there through all of it for him.

It had taken weeks with the therapist and Mycroft's constant attention before John started to realize that he still had a life to live and that he could survive this all-consuming grief. As the months went by he came to rely on Mycroft more and more, allowing the Dominant/Submissive roles to structure their lives at home. He didn't go out much unless it was with Mycroft. He still saw Greg but preferred to have him come over for dinner, movies, or beer and a game. It had taken Greg a little while to get used to seeing John in Mycroft's home, hell he was still surprised John had agreed to it himself. Still John seemed content and looked better than he had in months, so Greg didn't push him about living there for now. As Mycroft promised, what they shared between them was kept very private, even Greg, being in the house, was still not aware of the relationship John had with his keeper, as Greg liked to refer to him. This lasted about four months until John began to feel guilty because Mycroft was so much more than his keeper, he gave so much of himself to John and did so much for him. John discussed his feelings with Mycroft then finally told Greg about their relationship, not all of it of course but that they were together anyway. Greg had been shocked to say the least and tried to accuse Mycroft of taking advantage of John, until John stopped him point-blank explaining that he would be dead without Mycroft's intervention and affection. Greg calmed after that and soon accepted the relationship easily. That was when John first knew he was falling for Mycroft.

He and Mycroft had explored the extent of their need to be Dom and sub together. While Mycroft was very clearly a Dom, he thought perhaps John would like to explore it as well given his military background. John definitely had some Dom tendencies but had no desire to try them on Mycroft. Mycroft even offered to take him to a club where he could try them out on willing subs. John hadn't wanted to when their relationship was so new but before the year was out they had explored John's Dom traits quite extensively at some exclusive clubs in London and on their occasional travels to other parts of the world. Mycroft would observe and participate as John wished on those occasions but they kept intercourse strictly to themselves. John was still hesitant to go to a club publicly as Mycroft's sub but wouldn't put it out of the realm of possibility at some point.

Mycroft had taken him shopping one day at a very exclusive shop catering to the BDSM community. He lived up to the threat he made that very first day, buying John a matching collar and cuffs of thick, golden caramel brown with gold buckles and heavy gold rings on the front and back of the collar. The set came with a matching gold choke chain or leash as one chose to look at it. John insisted on having Mycroft's initials monogrammed into the set, imagining having Mycroft take him to the club as his sub someday and wearing them. He nearly insisted on wearing them home from the shop but waited until they got home before stripping naked and begging Mycroft to put them on him. And a very pleasurable night that was too.

Sometimes John found he simply wanted the reassurance of having the collar on even if they weren't playing at the time. He didn't even think he could explain it to anyone beyond he and Mycroft, it was about far more than sex. There had been so much doubt and feelings of inadequacy after Sherlock's death. If he was a better friend Sherlock wouldn't have jumped. If he was a better doctor he would have seen the signs of Sherlock unraveling. If he had only told Sherlock he loved him he would have stayed. His whole world had exploded into chaos the moment he lost Sherlock.

Mycroft made it better. He gave John truth and honesty, safety and security, tenderness and love, a solid relationship that valued him for the person he was and not for what he could be or do for Mycroft. At home he was a lover and a sub, but outside Mycroft had given him new purpose. When they travelled John went as Mycroft's personal bodyguard, complete with a legally registered firearm and ongoing training and workouts to keep his skills sharp. While Mycroft could defend himself easily, John made sure he never had to. Mycroft had also helped him get set up as a concierge doctor, able to work as he chose seeing exclusive clients that paid well. This also allowed him to be available to The Diogenes club for dignitaries in need of medical assistance or in some cases clandestine operatives who needed medical attention off of the books, and occasionally the added bonus of sex over Mycroft's desk as well. Both things were stimulating and different from anything he had done before but utilized his history, training, and skill set to their greatest potential. He was never bored, never despaired over his life anymore. Emotionally and physically he was happier than he had ever been before.

The collar came to symbolize that stability to John and he found it comforting to have it on. John would wear it while he and Mycroft simply watched a movie together; Mycroft found he enjoyed it as well, rubbing his thumb along the collar marking John as his while they watched. When they discussed it between themselves, Mycroft admitted that he had never thought he would have someone who just needed him the person...the man, someone not just after what his government connections could provide for them. Someone he could love and take care of, to enable him to indulge the nurturing tendencies he had and have those feelings returned as well. Seeing the collar and his initials on John stirred intense protectiveness and affection in Mycroft, as well as pleasure. As the months passed they found it wasn't necessary all the time, as John got better and his feelings for Mycroft grew he found he just wanted to be themselves sometimes, to know each other man to man and not just Dom to sub.

They had been together eight months when John knew he loved Mycroft and told him so during a rare weekend away in Paris. Mycroft who had risked his heart and world without the guarantee of ever having his feelings returned was so overwhelmed that he found himself quite unable to speak for a time, but John understood. He made love to Mycroft for the first time on that trip with all the tenderness and attention that "Three Continents Watson" was ever known for. And if the joy of said lovemaking brought them both tears as they reached orgasm together, then that is indeed a memory worthy of two people in love. John knew then that he didn't want to ever be without Mycroft by his side.

His recollections scattered as the sound of a throat being cleared broke the silence. The driver had returned to take him back to town.

"Ah..hello Clarence," John rose to clear his breakfast quickly, "Sorry I didn't hear you come in, why don't you take a break, grab a cuppa while I gather my things, yeah?" Even after a year John found it hard to adhere to stiff formality with the staff, especially when Mycroft wasn't around. Clarence, however, was a veteran chauffeur and took John's relaxed attitude with grace.

"As you wish Doctor Watson, thank you." He moved to the kettle to prepare a cup of tea without further comment.

John knew the older man would appreciate the break so he didn't rush with his things. He actually only needed to collect a bag he had hidden from Mycroft for the surprise tonight, along with their bag of playthings for the evening as well. Once he had all the bags in the hallway, he made a trip to the bathroom largely to kill a bit more time so Clarence would get to finish his tea, then announced he was ready to leave. He always managed to time it well as Clarence was just placing his cup in the sink. Together they made their way to the garage, Clarence carrying two bags and John carrying one. They had gone through a non-verbal battle of wills when John started traveling with Mycroft over the bags. Clarence felt it was his job to load the bags and became offended if John did it for him. John saw no reason for the older man to wait on him if he could do it himself and thought he was helping. Mycroft saw what was going on, surprised that he would have to remind John that every person needs to feel useful. Properly chagrined John allowed Clarence to continue his job with the slight compromise of always carrying one bag. And if he tried to always grab the heaviest bag, well...Clarence didn't need to know that did he. Soon they were on their way, London was calling. London, Mycroft, and the future.

{*} {*} {*}

John had Clarence drop him at the flat and arranged for him to return in a couple of hours. True to his word Mycroft had not kept John from Baker Street once he was stable. John still came here often to check on Mrs. Hudson, to hang out with Greg in a less formal setting, or even to sleep when Mycroft was detained at work and the townhouse seemed too large for him alone. Mainly he used the flat as his unofficial office in the fight to clear Sherlock's name. Mycroft had encouraged him to channel his anger at the public and the press over Sherlock's death into something more beneficial. John, Mycroft, and Greg had worked tirelessly through all of Sherlock's cases and notes detailing practically every deduction he made to solve each case. They proved Richard Brook was a fraud and that Moriarty was real. John used the flat to give interviews and meet key supporters in their cause and finally, just last month, he held a press conference on the steps on 221B to announce that Sherlock had been cleared of all charges. It was a bittersweet victory since Sherlock could not be here to share in it but John was satisfied that he had done well by his friend at last.

Today he cleaned the little that needed done, as the flat was much tidier these days. He set up the surprise he had for Mycroft before checking the food and wine in the fridge for any last minute items he may need to pick up while he was out. When all this was accomplished, he went into Sherlock's room, the only place Mycroft hadn't bothered to keep cameras. He checked the top bureau drawer for the items he had hidden there just reassuring himself they were safe and sound. At the front of the drawer lay a long narrow gift-wrapped box, his anniversary gift for Mycroft, though it would bring both a great deal of pleasure. He shuddered, happily anticipating tonight despite his nerves. The most important package ,however, was pushed far into the back corner of the drawer, behind the socks and underwear. John pulled out the small, square, black box, unable to resist looking inside and running his finger over the smooth rounded surface. He had always hoped to marry but could never have planned on the intended recipient of his ring. He had planned for tonight over the past four months, no easy task when you are trying to surprise Mycroft Holmes, and now the deed was almost accomplished. He sighed in contentment and smiled as he returned the ring to its hiding place preparing to leave the flat. Things to do and the sooner he got to them, the sooner tonight would get here. Locking the door behind him, he took the steps with vigor as he went down to meet Clarence yet again.


	2. Chapter 2

His new office was in an ultra modern building all sleek and gleaming in the sunlight. John really preferred a more relaxed atmosphere but upscale clients expected upscale offices. His secretary, Joan Whitehead was already there fielding calls and emails. He actually hadn't booked any appointments himself for today or tomorrow wanting to fully enjoy celebrating the anniversary, with an added bonus he silently hoped. John disappeared into his private office and spent an hour replying to emails and updating charts before Joan appeared with a fresh cup of tea and a message. Seemed the ambassador from Sweden's daughter was sick and they were requesting the doctor's presence at the embassy. John thanked her for the tea, sipping it quickly while he gathered his bag and supplies. Soon he was off again with Clarence driving him to the embassy to see the girl. Thankfully it was only an ear infection requiring some antibiotics, rest, and mild medication for pain. John gave her an injection to start the antibiotic therapy, then left the prescriptions with the nanny to get filled. He promised to check in on the girl tomorrow evening to see if she was improving.

By the time he had accomplished all these things it was nearing tea time so he headed to the club to see if Mycroft would be free. He rang the bell at the private entrance, was shown in by the silent doorman, and taken directly to Mycroft's office. He was on the phone when John arrived but he smiled and waved him toward a seat as he spoke. John took a chair near the window to give Mycroft some privacy. Instead of grabbing a book he spent his time observing Mycroft, assessing his day so far. He hadn't spent all his time around Holmes brothers without learning a good bit himself. Mycroft sat in his chair with his jacket off, his shoulders were drawn up and tight, his lips pinched just at the edges, and lines pressed across his forehead from an unrelieved furrow there. Tense day so far, it was then. That might not bode well for the evening and John determined to relieve the tension if possible. Even as Mycroft brought the call to an end John was crossing the room to him. John stood behind Mycroft's chair and reached for the tense shoulders, his strong hands working firmly into the muscles as he placed a kiss atop the ginger head.

"Rough day My?"

Mycroft hummed in reply and groaned as fingers hit a sensitive spot. "Just the usual I'm afraid. A small crisis here or there but nothing catastrophic. At least all should be remedied before dinner," he smiled up at John who placed a soft kiss on his lips and continued to work loose the knots in his neck, shoulders, and back. Mycroft moaned happily as his tension eased away, "That feels so good John. You always seem to know just what I need and when I need it. Thank you."

John wanted Mycroft to relax completely so he continued his ministrations, "You're always welcome My. You know I enjoy being able to do something for you when you do so much for me." Mycroft didn't reply but reached his right hand up to cover John's on his shoulder and give it a quick squeeze. John saw no reason to quit as Mycroft eased back in his chair with a sigh. He let his eyes wander the room while he worked. As his gazed passed over Mycroft's desk a familiar red folder caught his attention and prompted a response. "You've had a new report then?"

Mycroft didn't even flinch as he replied smoothly, "Several actually, all in the past few days. Several high-ranking operatives known to have been part of Moriarty's network have been found executed in one manner or the other. Another handful were deposited on the steps of various police stations with the complete evidence trail of their crimes in a manilla envelope secured to their person. No one seems to know how they arrived there and all the CCTV footage of the supposed vigilante has either been wiped or is so sketchy as to be useless. The organization is in tatters and there is no one with enough power to pull it back together it seems. A few sightings of said vigilante have been reported. A tall, freakishly intelligent, gentleman with hair in varying colors depending on location and whom is reporting. No names and no follow-up to be found for any of them."

John made a non-specific noise in his throat before questioning, "Do you believe it is possible? Could it actually be him?" John never made a secret about wishing Sherlock wasn't dead but accepted it as fact and moved on, especially after Mycroft. Two months ago, however, Mycroft had begun acting odd….fidgety, if that description can even be applied to the reserved man. After a week of similar behavior, John had finally confronted him about it and Mycroft, who had made it a practice never to lie to him, showed him the red folder. Suspicious deaths within Moriarty's network, reports of a tall man infiltrating cells before they were destroyed, questionable sightings, all pointing in one way or the other toward the impossible. They had no proof whatsoever. Neither man had had any contact to point to, any lead followed resulted only in dead ends. So the folder remained and Mycroft calmly collected any and all reports that might give them answers. Still they had none.

Mycroft sighed. It was not the first time this question had been posed. Despite being fairly secure in John's feelings for him at this point, Mycroft had hesitated sharing the information with him in the first place. He hadn't wanted to give even a hint of hope for the impossible when John had barely made it past his grief….his love. Still he did share it and John was not alone in the small hope that his remarkable brother may yet live. There simply wasn't any proof to back it up. If it was Sherlock he was masterfully avoiding detection on all fronts.

"I want it to be possible John. I want it to be him as much as you but I rely on facts and concrete evidence of which I have none. I cannot say what the truth is and suppose we will continue waiting until the truth, if there be one, is revealed." The atmosphere had become too heavy in the room, too many insecurities, doubts, hopes, and fears felt and repressed between the two men. Mycroft chose to refocus those thoughts on the two of them instead. Reaching up for John's hand once more, he quickly pulled the man around in front of his chair, and down into his arms. He was amused as John tried and failed to fall gracefully into his lap, but since it resulted in his lover's arms around his neck and his warm body stretched out across him, he did not find cause to complain, even smiling outright as John's legs dangling over the edge of his chair. "Now, on to more enjoyable topics then," he quickly caught John's lips in a heated kiss. Pulling back a few moments later, he enjoyed the flushed look of surprise and arousal on John's face. "I have missed you all morning. I find I do hate it when our priceless time alone has to end for the mundane workings of life. You, John Watson, make me wish for once that I could run away from everything and just be with you always. I have never in my life experienced that desire for another person so sharply. Whatever have you done to me?"

John smiled, "I believe we have done it to each other. I could be with you day and night and still not seem to get enough." He gave Mycroft a mock demure glance as he queried, "What do you suppose we can do about this problem?"

Mycroft gave a small growl as he replied, "Not a problem for me at all." One hand quickly found the back of John's head as he reclaimed his lips for a deep kiss; while his free hand opened the buttons of John's shirt and found a hardened nipple to torment.

The position across Mycroft's lap was not conducive to further contact, however, and John quickly righted himself to straddle his lover. Pressing himself firmly against the growing bulge beneath him, he was intimately reminded of the plug he still wore while he resumed hungrily kissing Mycroft as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar to better reach his throat. Mycroft as well had quickly opened John's shirt completely, pushing it off of his shoulders so that it hung around his elbows. Breaking the kiss, he pulled John forward and latched onto his right nipple sucking hard while one hand rubbed and pinched the left one. John gasped, pushing his chest into Mycroft's mouth as he ground his erection down against the hardness now fully present, the plug pressing right against his prostate causing a low moan as well. Mycroft growled again and nipped the tortured nub before moving to give its neighbor similar treatment. His hands soon busied themselves with the front of John's trousers. In a matter of minutes he had released John's swollen cock from his pants and was stroking him steadily, rubbing his thumb around the swollen head and the precum there. John could only moan watching him as he continued to gyrate his hips against Mycroft's swollen member. He leaned back , balancing himself with his hands on Mycroft's knees and continued to thrust against him, still watching the motions of the hand on his cock with half-lidded eyes. Mycroft couldn't help but admire the view.

"Just look at you, always so wanton for me aren't you John. I want to bend you over my desk, slip out that plug and fuck you right now." John couldn't stop the needy whimper at the filthy words, only Mycroft had the ability to take him apart so completely and so fast. Calculating eyes narrowed as they watched John, "But that's not what you want, is it John? Just look at you like that, such a sight spread out like that above me, grinding down on my cock…..you want to ride me don't you John. Right here in this chair you want to ride my cock and fuck yourself until you come," John bit back his whine of want and only nodded in response. Mycroft continued stroking John as he reached for the waist of his own pants prepared to do just that before a sharp knock at the door stopped him. Both men froze and Mycroft instinctively tightened his grip around the base of John's cock. John stifled his groan with his own hand and forced himself to stop moving against Mycroft while quickly pulling his shirt back up on his shoulders and mostly closed in front, his shirttails covering the evidence.

Mycroft knew it would only be Anthea and bade her enter. Anthea for her part did not react at all, merely sticking her head in to announce that the tea service had arrived. She had grown quite accustomed to the two men and their activities this past year as this was not the first time she had been forced to interrupt them. She was just glad to see her boss happy with someone who seemed to love him equally and in a way he deserved. "Thank you Anthea, if you would just give us a couple of minutes, then they can set up the tea." With a nod she was gone, leaving Mycroft to turn his penitent gaze on John, "I am sorry love. I seem to have lost track of the time or I would not have allowed us to get so carried away just now. I shall make it up to you tonight." He carefully released his hold on John's now softened member, sighing as he rose and started to right his clothes.

"Is that a promise," John questioned ruefully.

Mycroft smiled softly, nodding as he replied, "Most definitely."

John returned his smile and leaned forward, kissing him quickly, "Then I shall hold you to that. Now come and have something to eat because I can nearly guarantee you worked through lunch and I can't have you fainting away before dinner gets here."

Mycroft took his outstretched hand and rose just as the servers rolled in the tea trolley and began to set the small table he had near the window. Together they walked over, turning their attention to tea and food and general conversation. Despite the interruption, John was happy to see Mycroft more relaxed and in a much better mood now. They lingered over the tea until they had had their fill, and still they sat talking easily with each other. At length Mycroft sighed, "Much as I hate to end this, there is still a good bit of desk work that needs to be completed if I am to join you for dinner tonight."

Taking the hint, John set down his cup and pushed back from the table. "Well this is one date you are simply not allowed to be late for, so I shall be off so you can continue working. Meet me at the flat when you're done, alright? Say around eight."

"Of course, but am I still to know nothing of our plans," Mycroft queried.

John had absolutely refused to tell Mycroft anything other than to plan for the evening free and he stuck to his guns now as well. "You will find out when you get there. Now stop being so nosy. I've already disabled all the cameras in the flat for today so you…(kiss to his forehead)...will just…(kiss to his nose)...have….(kiss to one cheek)...to….(kiss to the other cheek)...wait." He finished with a lingering kiss feeling Mycroft's smile against his lips.

Mycroft gave in gracefully, tipping his head to John's, "If I must. I have never been one for impatience John but you seem to bring out the worst in me. But for you, I will engage my utmost restraint and wait for tonight to know the answer to this burning mystery."

John chuckled at his barely mollified partner, "Good. I'll see you soon enough." With a last kiss, he wrapped his arms around Mycroft and held him close while he whispered in his ear, "Until tonight love." Then he was off, shooing Mycroft to his work as he left and offering Anthea a conspiratorial wink as he passed her desk.

A quick stop by the office to type up notes for the ambassador's daughter, then stops to pick up Mycroft's favorite wine and dessert, and John was back at Baker Street to prepare for the evening. Mrs. Hudson was off to visit her sister so he knew they would have privacy. He put the wine and dessert into the fridge as he looked over the kitchen. There really was nothing else he could do just now so he opted to shower, shave, and dress for tonight. He took great care washing, grooming and dressing, everything done with an eye toward impressing and pleasing Mycroft. Italian leather loafers (a gift from Mycroft for his birthday), perfectly pressed and pleated wool trousers in a warm tan color, and an incredibly soft cashmere jumper in a deep maroon topped off the ensemble. These were the colors Mycroft favored on him and generally got the most compliments. However, the clothes were new as John wanted the whole evening to be a surprise. A splash of cologne, a quick ruffle of fingers through his hair and he was as ready as he could make himself. Until now he had been able to ignore his nerves but the later it got the harder that became.

At seven the caterer arrived with the entrée, as much as John loved to cook for Mycroft he didn't want to be busy in the kitchen all night, so he ordered something from Mycroft's favorite high-end restaurant. With the food safely placed in a warm oven to keep, John went about setting the table and preparing the salad. With half an hour to go he returned to Sherlock's room and gathered his gifts, the long narrow box he placed on the tea-table next to the chairs in the sitting room and the black box he slipped into his pocket. With fifteen minutes to spare he opened the wine to breath, lit the candles on the table and around the sitting room and put some light jazz on to play quietly in the background. He surveyed the overall effect with satisfaction as he heard Mycroft dismissing his driver downstairs.

John greeted Mycroft at the door with a brief hug and kiss before taking his hand and pulling him into the flat. He couldn't suppress his wide smile at the look of surprise on Mycroft's face as he took in the candlelight and John's casual elegance.

"We are staying in I take it," Mycroft asked.

John replied warmly, "Indeed we are. Why don't you go freshen up while I get dinner on the table. I've left you something more comfortable to change into after work….in Sherlock's room."

"And then will I be allowed to know what the occasion may be," was parried back.

"Dinner," was all John said as he pushed Mycroft toward the bathroom.

Mycroft took the opportunity for a very quick shower, wrapping a towel around himself and slipping into Sherlock's room to change. The clothes were not what he typically wore but proved to be a nice change. He was touched that John had done this for him. Obviously this was something John wanted to see him in and Mycroft hoped that he would be pleased with the results. He was ready in under ten minutes, leaving his suit lying on the bed, he made his way to the kitchen.

John smiled when he saw Mycroft in the new clothes, looking ever so slightly uncertain. He returned the smile however as John motioned for him to turn around so he could see the whole outfit. Mycroft wore his own pair of leather loafers, though his were Moroccan leather and dark grey. The trousers were a soft wool in heather grey, perfectly tailored and clinging sublimely to his frame. John admired the trousers smooth fit highlighting Mycroft's perfect ass just as he knew they would. A simple white button up shirt in Egyptian cotton was left unbuttoned at the throat, more casual than John saw Mycroft on practically any given day, and a cobalt blue cashmere cardigan completed the outfit. The blue set off Mycroft's ginger hair and blue-grey eyes perfectly, the whole effect quite dizzying for John and he had been the one to select the clothes. "God you look gorgeous My," he exclaimed, bringing a blush to the other man's face and a quiet thank you for the compliment. John's smile only grew as he held out a chair for Mycroft, "Come have dinner love." Mycroft raised an eyebrow in question but took the offered chair without another word surveying the table while John took his own seat. John poured them both a glass of Beaujolais, before raising his glass to Mycroft in a toast, "Happy Anniversary Mycroft," he offered with his glass, "Here's to many more to come."

Mycroft's face lit up and the genuine smile reserved for John alone graced his face as he returned the toast, "To many more indeed. Happy Anniversary John." He knew, of course, that today was the one year anniversary of them being together. He just wasn't sure if John knew or cared to be reminded of that dark time so he had not said anything. Apparently John had taken it upon himself to plan this evening for them and he was touched beyond words. He had never had someone who would make such a romantic gesture just for him and found he was grateful for John in his life anew.

John set down his glass and began to pass the dishes for their meal. A leafy salad of fresh mixed greens started them off, followed by a meal of Beef Bourguignon with mushrooms, honey glazed carrots and roasted red potatoes along with crusty French bread. They enjoyed the meal slowly sipping the wine and sharing fond memories of the past year together. Mycroft was quite content by the time they reached dessert. John served them both a rich silky chocolate mousse and freshly brewed coffee. John watched as Mycroft's mouth closed around the first bite of chocolate, smiling broadly and chuckling as he practically purred at the sinfully delicious treat. Mycroft only shrugged before continuing with his dessert, prompting John to do the same. It was only as they finished up the dessert and were sipping their coffee that Mycroft became aware of the nervous tension coming from John. He sat back and examined John carefully, waiting for something he seemed to want to say.

John had eased the ring box out of his pants pocket and had palmed it under the table for the past five minutes trying to decide how to start. For all his planning, now that it was down to the moment and the actual words John was at a loss. There was so much to say, to express, and he was never very good with expressing himself in this way. He might have stayed like that for the rest of the night but Mycroft's questioning tone seemed to kick him into action.

"John?"

"Uhmm….yeah, uhm..sorry Mycroft….got distracted there." Taking a deep breath John summoned his courage and began. "Mycroft a year ago, it is no exaggeration to say you saved my life. If you had not been brave enough to take me on, to push me out of the rut I was in, I wouldn't be here with you today. You and I know this to be true but I don't know if I truly let you know how grateful I am…..everyday... for you. Just for you Mycroft. You made me better, you have made this past year one of the happiest in my life. You loved me, even when I could not return that love, you still were there for me in every way. I am so glad you stuck around and gave me the opportunity to get to know you, to love you. I can't imagine my life without you in it any longer….and I don't want to either." Slipping out of his chair and onto his knee beside Mycroft, he held up the open ring box, "So I was wondering if you would do me the honour of becoming my husband and promising I never have to worry about that ever again?" He looked expectantly at Mycroft nervously awaiting his reply.

Mycroft could not find the words to express his profound love for the man before him, asking if he would marry him, as though he would want to do anything else. He had also managed to surprise him which was a rare occurrence in his life. But the surprise had left him with a predicament of his own, he shook his head puzzling over what to do now.

John of course, took Mycroft's hesitation and shaking head as rejection and sat back on his heels lowering the box to his lap wondering what he was supposed to do now. Mycroft belatedly realized his mistake and quickly fell to his knees beside John.

"My dear John, I am sorry you misunderstood. It will be the highest honour of my life to become your husband. But I am afraid that I can do so only on one condition," John met Mycroft's gaze with a mixture of puzzlement and expectation. Mycroft however could not contain his happiness nor the mirth glimmering in his eyes as he pulled a very similar black box from his jacket pocket. "And that is that you agree to become my husband as well." Holding the box up in one hand, he cupped John's stunned face with the other, "Marry me John."

John stared blankly at the offered ring for a moment before glancing down at his own box and beginning to laugh out loud. "Yes….yes of course I will marry you." He leaned forward to kiss his fiancé soundly. A fiancé who promptly replied, "And I you John." They stared at each other once more as the absurdity of the situation caught up with them and they both sat on the kitchen floor laughing. When he was able to catch his breath John managed to ask, "How long?"

Mycroft replied readily, "In my dreams? Forever. But realistically….since you told me you loved me in Paris. I have had the ring in my pocket for a month trying to decide when to ask. And you?"

John smiled, "The same. I've planned since Paris and had the ring hidden for the past two months waiting for tonight." He shook his head as they kissed again before finally getting around to placing each others rings on their respective fingers. They admired the effect of the rings on each others hands. Both in yellow gold, John's was a plain band polished to a bright gleam, fitted snugly to his finger with smooth, rounded edges to prevent snagging gloves when he worked. Yes, Mycroft thought of everything. Mycroft's had crisp smooth edges, but the center of the band had been etched repeatedly to achieve a soft, burnished shimmer. It was a bit more posh than John's ring but still understated for the government official who did not care for ostentation in his personal dress. In a word they were perfect for the men who wore them. John considered the rings for a moment before cutting his eyes to Mycroft and voicing his thoughts. "Anthea?"

Mycroft raised one eyebrow, smiled, and nodded. "But of course John. I assume you required certain assistance with shopping and maintaining your secret as did I." John chuckled and nodded.

"She has to be the most competent person I have ever known, Mycroft."

Mycroft nodded seriously, "Yes. It would seem so. I am disturbingly uncertain of whether I should be afraid of her deceptive capabilities or decidedly proud?"

John couldn't help but laugh, "I would go with decidedly proud….and perhaps a lovely reward for this particular feat of skill." He finally pushed himself up off the floor and offered Mycroft a hand. He passed him a fresh glass of wine with a gentle push, "Why don't you go relax in the sitting room while I clean up the kitchen, then we can...uhm….celebrate."

Mycroft kissed him chastely and raised his glass, "I shall hold you to that love."

Now that the proposal was out-of-the-way, John was excited for the rest of the night. He put away the leftovers, cleared the table, and quickly washed the dishes leaving them on the drainer to dry. When everything else was finished, John removed the nice tablecloth he had used for dinner. Now Mycroft would be able to see the other surprise he had for them. Now ready, John slipped off his shoes by the door and padded quietly over to Sherlock's chair where Mycroft sat sipping his wine and flipping through a book. Silently he lowered himself to his knees beside the chair, hands by his sides, eyes on the floor, and waited. Mycroft did nothing for several minutes, merely continuing as before. Neither spoke and John remained still. At length he heard the book close and the soft scrape of the wine glass being set on the table before he felt a hand on his head. A hand that now bore his engagement ring, he shuddered at the thought as long fingers combed through his hair.

"Would you like to play tonight then love," the soft question broke the silence at last.

John sighed, leaning into the hand caressing his head before replying, "Yes sir. Please may we play tonight?" He did nothing else beyond replying, waiting for approval and instructions to come.

The hand grasped his hair and pulled his head up to receive a blistering kiss before the reply came, "Very well. Bring me the bag, then stand here and strip for me."

John quickly retrieved the small black bag that carried their favorite playthings and lube, as well as his collar and cuffs, and brought it to Mycroft. Once the bag was delivered, he paused only long enough to watch Mycroft remove the collar before beginning to undress. He eased his jumper off over his head slowly, knowing how much Mycroft enjoyed watching him, before folding it carefully and placing it on his own chair. He unzipped his trousers equally slowly, his own cock twitching in interest as his fingers brushed past. John watched as Mycroft held his collar in has hands, long fingers practically caressing the soft brown leather, while he slid the trousers down his legs. Folding them as Mycroft preferred, John found himself already aroused simply by the prospect of the evening to come. Mycroft noticed the small spot of wetness already forming on John's pants and stopped him just as he reached to pull off the pants as well.

"Stop. Touch yourself, but only over your pants," Mycroft ordered.

John replied and moved to obey, stroking lightly over his swelling cock still trapped in his tight pants. John couldn't help but remember the first time he had been ordered to do this. Knowing now just how endless the possibilities of Mycroft's imagination could be his cock quickly swelled to fullness and began to leak freely. John stroked himself steadily without speeding his pace eying the hard bulge in Mycroft's trousers hungrily. He knew Mycroft would only let him come when he wished it so he did not try to rush. When his breathing began to speed up and his stroke faltered briefly, the command to stop came again and he drew his hand away, looking expectantly to Mycroft.

"Come here John." Indicating the space in front of him he directed John to the floor with only a glance of his eyes. Well accustomed to each other now, John followed the silent command quickly kneeling in between Mycroft's knees. Mycroft held up the collar and John leaned forward as it was secured snugly around his neck. The cuffs were also produced and fastened to each wrist but left apart for now. Once these were in place, John was able to feel the outside world slipping away as he sank into his role fully; his only focus now the man in front of him.

Mycroft leaned back in the chair and steepled his fingers, surveying John closely as he waited for whatever would come next. A few minutes passed before the question came, "Did you relieve yourself today after lunch? In the shower perhaps?"

John shook his head as he answered, "No sir I did not."

"No? Not at all?"

"No sir. I...I wanted to sir….but I knew it would be better not to do so. To..to keep...that edge for tonight would be better sir so I did not relieve myself." John hesitated only briefly in his answer but spoke the truth. He had wanted desperately to wank after the aborted seduction at Mycroft's office but he was used to delaying himself by now and he knew it only made things more intense later. And he wanted tonight to be memorable.

Mycroft merely smiled, reaching a hand out to run long fingers through John's hair and cup his cheek, "That is good John. It will indeed be better." He leaned forward and pulled John up to meet his kiss before continuing, "I believe I promised to make this afternoon's interruption up to you tonight, did I not?"

"Yes sir, yes you promised," John answered promptly. He couldn't wait to see just what Mycroft would offer as recompense. He didn't have to wait long this time.

"Stand up." John was swiftly on his feet. "Turn around and give me your hands." John did as instructed, soon finding his wrist cuffs secured keeping his hands restrained. He was turned back around sharply as Mycroft pushed and pulled against his hips. He expected a command. Instead Mycroft reached for his pants, slipping a long finger underneath the band on each side he began to ease John's pants down. He met and held John's gaze as he pulled the pants away and freed the flushed cock to bob lightly against John's stomach. He stopped when the pants stretched across the top of John's thighs and nestled against the crease below John's firm cheeks. John could not help the way his breath hitched as Mycroft pulled his eyes away to survey the twitching, leaking cock before him, but he gasped outright when he leaned forward and licked the hard shaft from base to tip before lapping around the swollen head to collect the pre-cum there. John steeled himself for the protracted tease he expected so Mycroft's next words were slow to register.

"You have made me incredibly happy tonight John...this whole year in fact, but especially tonight. I intend to have you every way I can manage. I want to fuck my fiancé until neither of us can stand and barely manage to fall into bed together. I am going to give you this release now because after that I will push your endurance and stamina to its limit. You will earn your release next time. Do you understand?"

John could barely find the words in the face of that declaration but finally managed, "Yes sir….I understand."

That was all Mycroft required before he gripped John's hips and took the thick cock down to the root. John groaned at the sight and fought the urge to thrust, knowing full well that Mycroft would stop if he couldn't control himself. Mycroft sucked him steadily, his lips a slow drag up John's cock followed by the slick furl of his tongue around the head before the sharp plunge back down, taking his cock deep into his throat and swallowing. It was exquisite torture. John wanted to thrust so badly, to fuck the mouth that usually spewed such posh words in the filthiest way possible. But he knew Mycroft's rules still applied, he would get exactly what he wanted him to get and not until he was ready. The pace continued as John fought for control and felt his orgasm building like a fire, slow to start but once caught it raged. Mycroft increased his speed only when he heard John's panted respirations and felt the muscles beneath his hands twitching repeatedly as they fought for control. Three more passes and John cried out just as Mycroft took him deep one last time and swallowed repeatedly around the pulsing cock spilling down his throat. He held John's hips to keep him steady and pulled off softly once he was finished.

John panted heavily and tried to suck in some deep breaths through his nose to get control of his breathing. It was a long moment before he could speak, "Tha….thank you sir."

Mycroft smiled before instructing John to step back. Once he had room to move, Mycroft rose to his feet and took John in his arms. One hand grasped a firm cheek pulling John against a very large erection while the other supported his back and pressing their chests together as well. He claimed John's mouth for a fiery kiss, exploring the mouth deeply as he thrust his tongue forward and sucked on John's in turn. John could only groan into the kiss, the taste of his cum in Mycroft's mouth driving him wild. The kiss continued, growing more passionate as both men tried to force themselves closer. When Mycroft could take it no longer he pulled his mouth from John's with a groan, quickly turning him toward Sherlock's chair and pushing him forward. John's knees had barely landed on the large cushion before Mycroft was pressing against his upturned ass, pushing him down until his head and shoulders rested against the back of the chair, a sharp push at his neck silently commanding him to stay. John complied turning his head to the side so he could better see Mycroft, his bound wrists twitching restlessly in anticipation. Mycroft did not speak, one hand released the zip on his trousers and began stroking his large cock as the other eased the plug from John's ass causing him to moan out loud once more. The next moment Mycroft shoved deep into him, taking no time to adjust he set a brutal pace fucking hard into John repeatedly.

John loved it like this and could only gasp and groan out his cries each time the large cock plunged into him again. "Oh yes! Thank you sir! Thank you for fucking me sir! It's so good...so good! Fill me up sir! Please!"

Mycroft's stamina was impressive and he fucked John ruthlessly without flagging. "I've wanted you bent over taking my cock all day…..would have fucked you over my desk if we hadn't been disturbed. That plug has to be my favorite toy, keeping your gorgeous ass ready for me all the time. That's what you like isn't it my greedy little soldier. Always ready for me…...always wanting my big cock up your ass…..you like being my little cock slut. Isn't that right?"

John's own cock was beginning to stir in response to the stimulation and Mycroft's filthy words. He sighed at the ecstatic feeling he got from being used like this as he replied, "Yes sir. I love that big cock up my ass. I want it all the time sir…..I want to be your slut sir, only yours." A particularly forceful thrust had him gasping once more, "AH! Ahhh….Yes! Yes sir, fuck me like that!"

With a low growl Mycroft leaned forward, curling his hands under John's shoulders and pulling him back to meet his thrusts at the same time he increased his pace, his climax approaching hard and fast as he fucked John. "I'm going to fill you up John and leave out the plug. You're going to stay just like this so I can enjoy the view of your well fucked hole dripping with my cum. You're going to stay right here until I say otherwise."

John barely managed a shaky 'Yes sir' before Mycroft thrust deep and held there with a cry as he pulsed hot cum into John over and over. He leaned forward over John's back, resting his forearms on the back of the chair while he caught his breath. Below him John was quiet, his eyes closed as he too caught his breath and enjoyed the afterglow with Mycroft despite not coming. The dull ache of his own cock part of his pleasure at his point. Mycroft gently kissed along John's shoulders, neck, and temple, wrapping his arms around to run his hands over the firm chest and hard nipples. "You did so well love. You took my cock so beautifully…..made me so happy. My lovely soldier."

John basked in the praise and comfort Mycroft showered him with, happy to have pleased him at any time but even more so tonight. Mycroft raised himself up, gently rubbing over John's shoulders and upper arms, checking the cuffs to be sure they weren't hurting John, admiring the way the candles sent flickering shadows across the naked flesh. Leaning down once more he gave John's earlobe a firm suck and a nip of his teeth before speaking low in his ear. "You are so beautiful like this John. So fine and strong, submitted to me…...bound but not helpless….all for me. You are exquisite and I shall never have enough of you John…..Never."

John, overwhelmed by the words, couldn't begin to think of how to reply. In the end he settled on simplicity. "Thank you sir. Only for you sir….always."

Mycroft stepped back as his cock softened and slipped out of John. Grabbing some tissues off of the small table by the chair, he cleaned up and tucked himself back into his trousers, still staring at John. Indeed enjoying the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of John's ass, his hole spasming regularly just begging to be filled again, while he remained bound and presented for his eyes alone. He picked up his glass of wine once more and sat in John's chair to better enjoy the view. There were no further words spoken. John closed his eyes as a blissful silence settled over them and Mycroft sipped his wine.

The night was still very young.


	3. Chapter 3

Pleasant moments passed in silence until Mycroft found his wine glass empty. Leaving John still perfectly posed he returned to the kitchen for a refill. He noticed the new additions to the table at once, contemplating them as he poured. With his glass full he leaned back against the counter, sipping slowly while he took them in fully. Fastened to each leg of the table were thick silver chains connected to wide, black leather edged metal shackles, the base of each firmly bolted into the table leg for stability. Obviously John had obtained them and attached them to the table in preparation for tonight, even kept them quietly secured and covered during their meal. He could see how the chains looped around a hook on the inside of the table legs so they did not move until they were removed. There were also several locking clamps hanging along the chain which could be removed and placed as needed, presumably to tighten or provide slack in the chains.

Mycroft smiled slowly. Oh John certainly did know how to make him happy. He always took great pleasure in deducing John's desires, and though this seemed rather straightforward there was always something more for him to determine. It was all a part of their play, just another reason John was so perfect for him. Knowing at this point that John was perfectly attuned to every sound and movement he made, in order to catch any instructions he must follow, Mycroft approached the table and unhooked the first chain. Letting it fall to the floor with a satisfying rattle and thunk he moved to the next chain. He did not rush as he repeated the process for each chain until they all hung loose and waiting to serve their function, knowing John's arousal would already be increased just from these sounds alone.

Collecting his glass he returned to the sitting room, observing John as he did so. John had not moved at all, he had long ago mastered control of his body in this state. However, his cock was once more swollen, hanging thick and heavy between his thighs leaking precum slowly in anticipation of Mycroft's next move. Mycroft smirked at the visible proof of the correctness of his assertions, certain John was already imagining himself chained to the table being fucked in some way.

As he walked over to John he couldn't help but admire the sleek hardness of the body before him. The definition of muscle in buttocks and thighs, abdomen and arms; training with the security detail had long ago returned John to his military ready strength and tone. Though Mycroft had always loved John, the man was positively sinful now and his own cock stirred again seeing this gorgeous man, knowing he was his and his alone.

Mycroft knelt beside John, reaching his hand out to comb softly through his hair. John's eyes opened readily and met his with an eager gaze. Mycroft took a large sip of wine before tugging John's head sharply forward to meet his lips. He kissed deeply spilling the aromatic wine into John's mouth while he in turn hummed softly, swallowing greedily and sucking Mycroft's tongue for every last drop. When he pulled away, he met those eyes again. "How are you feeling love? Okay? Would you like some more?"

John smiled, "Yes sir. I am fine sir. I would like some more please."

Mycroft returned the smile as he took another large sip and brought his lips to John's once more. As they parted again Mycroft began, "There seem to be some new additions to the kitchen table John, would you care to tell me about them?" He was rewarded immediately as John blushed beautifully while his pupils began to dilate.

"They are a surprise sir, for our anniversary. I thought you would enjoy them sir," he answered shyly.

John was in no way shy but he was an excellent submissive, able to please his Dom in even the smallest ways. Shy, blushing, vulnerable John was one of the sexiest things in the world to Mycroft, appealing to his need to take care of John at the same time it stoked his urge to dominate him. "Did you indeed, John?" He halted John immediate reply with a single finger pressed firmly to his lips. "Don't you mean that you would enjoy if I used them? Used them to chain you to that table and fuck you? Keep you on that table and use you all night long in any way I see fit? Or even leave you there and do absolutely nothing. Isn't that what you actually meant John?"

John drew in a shaky breath to reply with a whispered, "Yes sir. That is what I meant…..what I wanted. Please." John looked at him expectantly.

Mycroft had every intention of doing exactly that but he wouldn't give in to John that easily. "I see. You thought you would get to determine what I would do tonight? That you would have some control?" John shook his head and tried to answer but was prevented by the two fingers now pressed over his lips. "You should know much better than that by now John. If you can not remember your place then I shall have to consider a punishment to remind you." Again John tried urgently to proclaim himself innocent of the charge leveled by his Dom only to be met with one hand pressed over his mouth and the other gripping his head tightly by the hair. "Shhh…..be silent John. You do not get to talk yourself out of a punishment with sweet words. It has been sometime since you were properly punished. My fault really for being so busy and not taking a proper hand to you earlier. Well I shall rectify that tonight. You will not speak again unless I ask you a direct question. I will not stop you from making any sound but you will not speak. Do you understand?"

Released at last so he could reply John nodded vigorously, "Yes sir. I understand sir. I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to presume…" He trailed off into silence as Mycroft rose and left him. He remained still and listened intently as Mycroft rummaged in their bag. Then there was silence. Mycroft did not return to in front of him but he knew better than to try and look so he stayed as he was.

"You know I truly love seeing you bent over and spread for me John. I always have, ever since the first time, I love seeing my cum dripping out of you. Knowing that I fucked you, I marked you, no one else has ever done what I get to do to you John and I can't tell you just how much pleasure that gives me."

John flinched slightly as he felt a single finger trace up from his balls and over his perineum to his moist hole. Even without seeing he knew Mycroft was gathering a rolling drop of cum from his asshole. Then he heard a soft pleased hum and could imagine the sight of that single long finger passing between Mycroft's lips as he licked and sucked it clean. John moaned softly, instantly more aroused than a moment before. Cum play had turned out to be quite a fetish for John. Something most would think of as filthy he found exciting. He would never admit it to anyone outright but Mycroft knew and indulged him willingly. But what would he do tonight, John wondered. His thoughts quickly scattered when he felt Mycroft's hand on his lower back at the same time two fingers were thrust deep inside his ass.

Avoiding the prostate, Mycroft slowly fucked his fingers into John for a moment collecting the warm viscous fluid still coating his rectum. Once he was ready, Mycroft moved quickly. He pulled his dripping fingers from John at the same time he yanked his head back firmly with his other hand causing John to gasp. Mycroft pushed his long fingers deep into John's mouth and commanded, "Suck!"

The command wasn't even necessary as John instantly wrapped his tongue around the cum drenched fingers, lapping around and between the fingers as he closed his mouth to suckle them as well. He moaned obscenely at the taste of Mycroft's cum mixed with the earthy tang of his ass, literally the essence of them.

"Yes...you like that don't you John? You like eating my cum from your own asshole don't you my nasty little bitch! I could probably stand here collecting it in a spoon and feed it to you and you would still love it, begging me for more like the greedy slut you are." Mycroft fucked his fingers into John's mouth for a moment before taking them away only to plunge three fingers back into John's ass this time. He still avoided John's prostate but thrust his fingers in vigorously, twisting his hand around to scoop up even more cum.

"Oh yes sir!" John had answered before moaning once more. Trying hard not to thrust onto Mycroft's fingers as he hoped for their return to his mouth. To his great pleasure, Mycroft allowed him more of his treat as the three fingers were pressed into his mouth. John sucked and licked happily against the thrusting fingers making little contented sounds as he did, until Mycroft spoke again.

"Well I'd best leave some there for me. You know how much I love fucking your ass with my tongue John. Enough for you now."

The fingers disappeared and John whined, "Oh please sir….please give me more?!"

His lapse earned him a sharp slap to one firm mound, the skin instantly warming with the hot sting of a hand print. "I believe John, I told you to remain silent unless you were asked a direct question." A second slap marked the other cheek as well, "And I am the one who decides what you get and when you get it John. You seem to be having trouble remembering that tonight. I shall have to remind you so that you remember better in the future."

John whimpered softly as Mycroft left him once more but it was more from shame than pain. He had let his Dom down on tonight of all nights. He would deserve his punishment, not that it wouldn't be enjoyable as well. John sensed Mycroft approaching him once more and looked up, his eyes widened briefly when he saw what lay in Mycroft's hand. The red rubber ball gag was large enough to stretch John's mouth wide and prevent him from speaking but not from making sounds or breathing easily. Mycroft held the black strap and let the gag dangle in front of John.

"Since you can't seem to remain silent tonight, I shall give you some help," he spoke firmly, his voice without tenderness at the moment, only the firm command of a Dom. John met his eyes and opened his mouth for the gag. Mycroft placed it well back in John's mouth and buckled it securely around John's head. Once he was satisfied with the placement, he pushed John's head down onto the back of the chair. Returning to stand behind John, he ran his hands over the warm red handprints on his ass. He carefully knelt behind his sub, "Now I believe I was right about here before I was interrupted. Back to business." Without further ado he leaned forward and plunged his tongue as far as he could manage into John's leaking hole. John jerked in surprise crying out behind the gag as Mycroft wasted no time ravaging his ass with that long wicked tongue. There was no careful teasing, no flicking tongue, just long swipes of the flat tongue over and around his hole followed by the deep probing strikes of said tongue once again.

John was trembling in pleasure. He had never known how good this could be until the first time with Mycroft, and his Dom was a master with his tongue. John could not stop moaning, his cock was forming a puddle of pre-cum on the chair, his breathing had sped up and he fought thrusting his ass onto the invading appendage. He groaned loudly when Mycroft's hand wrapped around his swollen cock. He knew he was not going to be allowed to come again yet. This was going to be exquisite torture and he had learned to love it. The world no longer existed, only the two of them and their pleasure with and for each other.

Mycroft stroked John's cock firmly and steadily while he tongued the hole now twitching around him each time he pressed forward. He knew John's own climax was building but he wasn't kidding about earning his next orgasm. He was going to have to please Mycroft very well to get what he wants in the end. Mycroft pressed his tongue in once more, sealed his mouth over the puckered flesh and began to suck hard as he jerked John faster.

John could never stop the buck of his hips when Mycroft did that, too many nerve endings stimulated, the sensations too intense. He let out a muffled scream behind his gag, wanting desperately to fuck, or be fucked, to come and come for days, losing himself in the overwhelming sensations coursing through him; his body still fighting for the release his mind knew he would not get. He would never understand how Mycroft knew the exact moment to stop in order to deny his orgasm but it never failed to be perfectly timed. This time was no exception, just as John felt the crest of an explosive orgasm begin, the mouth was removed and long fingers gripped his cock tightly. John didn't even moan, merely lay there panting while the sensations ever so slowly started to recede.

Mycroft soothed him as he calmed, his free hand petting his back in light, long strokes from neck to ass. "So good John….You handled that so well love….I'm proud of you…..shhhh now."

The words of praise comforted and pleased John at the same time, relieved to have done something to have made up for his failing earlier. The intense arousal began to subside with the quiet praise, bringing John back to the present to focus once more on the desires of his Dom.

Mycroft sensed the change and released John's cock gently, "Time to get up now love." He helped John raise up with hands beneath him shoulders, then steadied him as he rose knowing he would be a bit stiff from being in position so long. Once John stood before him easily, he rubbed over his shoulders and down his arms, easing the tension in the muscles there. "Okay?" That was all he asked John by way of checking his readiness to continue. He received a sharp nod in reply as his only indication from John. He dropped his hands and stood back looking over John, circling him to take in the full picture. Gag still in place, wrists still bound behind him, chest still slightly flushed with arousal, the fading handprints still visible on his tight ass…..oh he was simply stunning. Mycroft growled his appreciation softly into John's ear, "Mine you gorgeous creature! All mine!"

John closed his eyes and sighed, enjoying the jolt of excitement the words sent through him.

Mycroft backed away reaching for the small side table and the long narrow package there. Holding it up he addressed John once more, "Another gift for me then? Another surprise for our anniversary? I suspect it is much like the first one, is it not?"

John met his eyes then looked away as he nodded in embarrassment.

Mycroft narrowed his gaze studying John a moment before replying. "Well lets at least see what it is then." John's eyes darted back to him as he began to peel the paper from the box. Once the paper was gone he immediately recognized the name of one of their favorite shops, the place they had gotten John's collar in fact. Eying John with one raised eyebrow, he removed the lid of the box and revealed its prize. A sleek, black leather riding crop lay in the bed of red tissue paper. Just over two feet in length with three-inch leather tab at the tip it was a thing of beauty. But the distinguishing feature of this riding crop was the handle, thicker than most standard crops it was comprised of a series of leather straps woven around the core of the handle ending in a tightly tied knot of braided leather. Mycroft glanced at John as he lifted the crop from the box, noting the blush on his face and increased respirations as he averted his eyes once more. Mycroft thought it odd but continued his exam before continuing his deductions. The handle was nicely weighted and fit his hand perfectly. He studied the handle in closer detail noting that indeed the diameter was larger than average. The knot was easily an inch and a half in diameter on its own then the remainder of the handle tapered down to approximately three-fourths of an inch where it met the shaft of the crop. Mycroft continued to assess the crop for a few moments before coming to his conclusion. The crop was not of standard production, this crop had been designed and custom-made to specifications he assumed John had dictated. Mycroft almost dropped the thing as he realized John had just given him a custom-made riding crop, presumably to use  _on_   _him_. This was something new and strange, something unusual for John, something Mycroft would have to deduce and puzzle out. He soon found himself smiling broadly at John, so grateful and enamoured by the gift.

"Thank you John. It is indeed beautiful. I shall take great delight in determining how best to put it to use at a later time." He carefully watched John as he spoke. He had been met with eyes that sparked with excitement and an obviously interested cock. However when he indicated he would put off the exploration for later time, the shadow of disappointment passed over John's face before he covered it with stoic acceptance. Oh whatever John wanted with the crop, he wanted it very badly…..wanted it tonight. Mycroft knew John had not suddenly developed a taste for pain just as he had no wish to inflict it upon him. Beyond some spanks or slaps here and there, it just was not a part of their play. Mycroft unconsciously tapped the crop against his leg as he thought. Noting John's rapt attention on the crop he knew he would have to figure out this puzzle but nothing was coming to his aid at the moment. So for once he decided to wing it, just try a little of this and that to see if it helped, besides he had more of John's punishment planned.

Strolling over to John he let the tip of the crop barely trace over calf and thigh, hip and chest, down his arm and then up to his chin where he urged John's gaze up to meet his. John had kept his eyes on the crop the whole time, but Mycroft noted the way his breath still caught when the it touched his naked skin. Once John's attention was focused properly he continued. "I think it shall require quite a bit of my deductive skill to judge about this gift John and believe me my mind shall be intensely diverted by the mystery, however…..we have a punishment to get to don't we John?"

John's eyes had brightened and widened a bit before he nodded in response.

Mycroft took a tissue from the box on the small table and wiped the saliva drooling from John's mouth before kissing his cheek. "Very well then." He lowered the riding crop and took John's elbow, guiding him into the kitchen. He unlocked and removed the wrist cuffs, rubbing at John's arms and wrists briefly before turning him around. He took great pleasure in giving his next commands and watching John flush as his pupils tried to dilate even more if that were possible.

"Up on the table John. Lie back with your hands over your head. Knees bent, feet on the edge of the table, then don't move."

John scrambled to obey, hoping Mycroft would fulfill his fantasy after all. Once he was in position he stilled, realizing how obscenely he was spread out for Mycroft's use only heightened his arousal. Oh he truly was going to love this anniversary.

Mycroft lay the crop beside John on the table, moving silently to the end of the table he gathered the first chain. Locking the thick shackle around John's compliant wrist gave him an intense feeling of power he had never quite had before. It was intoxicating. He moved on to the second chain, binding the other wrist before drawing the two wrists together, locking the clips that held the shackles together. He adjusted and tightened the chains until John's wrists rested just over the edge of the table. There was still a small amount of slack but he hadn't finished just yet. He still remained silent as he made his way back to John's feet. He secured the shackles to each ankle but did not tighten the chains yet, that would come in a bit, for now he wanted John to obey without the restraint. Standing at the end of the table he pressed John's knees apart until he let his legs fall open wide. He growled at the sight before him. John completely bound, chest rising and falling quickly in anticipation, cock thick and twitching with arousal. Mycroft's gaze sweeping over John's body in this position caused the bound man to moan softly. Mycroft had never had John like this, not truly bound and at his complete mercy, his own cock throbbed in fierce delight at the prospect. He was beginning to see why John chose this surprise for their anniversary. A final small piece of trust between them, giving himself completely over to Mycroft's use….his full control and dominance. Mycroft at last raised his eyes to meet John's, equally as tender as they were excited, and offered a small nod and a smile in acknowledgement of the words unspoken in this gift. John had difficulty smiling with the gag but his eyes sparkled as he returned the small nod and closed his eyes with a sigh, relaxing into his position, waiting for Mycroft's next move. Mycroft thought he would love to keep John spread just like this for an evening just to look at him like this…..use him as he pleased, absently he noted that he would need to add another set of chains with some straps to hold John's thighs apart if he was to do that. Another time then. At last he spoke, "I won't tighten the chains on your feet just yet, I want you to remain just like this for me." He waited only for John to nod and then stepped away from the table.

John sighed softly, so far enjoying the restraints even more than he had thought he would. Now he could only hope Mycroft would successfully deduce his desire for the crop and this evening would be perfect. He could hear Mycroft rummaging about and definitely recognized the sounds of their bag. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stop thinking so he could sink even further into his own subspace. He focused on the weight of the shackles, the noise of the chains shifting, the stretch and pull in his body as he waited for whatever Mycroft decided to do next.

Mycroft observed John as he returned with his collected items, his eyes were closed and his body completely relaxed though he stayed perfectly in position. He knew John was lost to everything but sensations and him at this point. Smiling fondly as he approached, Mycroft trailed his long fingers over one ankle, up a well muscled calf and over a firm thigh before teasing over the solid cock. John's body twitched in response, his breath catching slightly as he tried to press into the feather-light fingers for more contact. Mycroft chuckled softly as he continued his path over the firm abdomen and chest, just brushing nipples on his way to John's throat where he spread his hand over the leather collar and pressed against it holding him to the table. He brushed the knuckles of his free hand against brow, temple, and cheek before following it with his lips, whispering in reverence, "So beautiful my soldier…..all mine aren't you?" John hummed softly and leaned into the kiss in response, still not opening his eyes.

Mycroft forced himself to pull away and picked the riding crop up from the table. He began to trail the thick leather tip over John's body again, watching closely for his responses as he talked. "I believe I said a punishment was in order…...a reminder of just who was in charge when we are engaged in play isn't that right?" John breathed deeply, greatly enjoying the smooth leather caressing him as he imagined the potential of the crop, so focused on it that he failed to respond. Mycroft still had little to go on as far as the crop so continued trying things out. Merely by instinct he raised the crop and snapped the tip sharply against John's left nipple. John grunted softly in surprise, eyes flying open at last, already hazy with arousal. He couldn't seem to decide whether to focus on Mycroft or the crop. Mycroft watched as the nipple reddened and hardened at once. Oh he liked that response but he was still trying to deduce John so he quickly repeated the action to the right nipple. He observed John's flared nostrils, rapid blinking over glazed eyes, and increased breathing along with an interested twitch from his cock. So…..likes that then...but surprised by it.

"I believe I asked you a question John? Does your punishment need to include a refresher on manners as well?"

John managed to drag his gaze from the crop to Mycroft as the question finally reached him. He carefully shook his head in reply.

Mycroft slapped the crop sharply against his palm, John's pupils were so dilated barely any color remained as he blinked in response. "We shall see John. We shall see." He returned the crop to John's chest rubbing over the now sensitized nipples, moving slowly down until the leather caressed his erection. He allowed the crop to linger watching as John's eyes darted sharply up to his as he attempted to somehow protect his most intimate area, slight fear was the predominant emotion this time. A sharply raised eyebrow was enough to send John back into position before Mycroft gave the slightest shake of his head with a soft shush to allay that fear, moving the crop on to the expanse of spread thighs before him. He quickly marked the insides of each thigh with the crop causing John's hips to jerk as he gasped for breath and let out a low whine in his throat. Mycroft caressed the red marks tenderly as he met John's gaze once more. "For doubting me," was all he said. He continued, swiping the crop over John's balls and across his ass before pressing the leather against his perineum. Noting instantly how John subtly lifted his hips, trying to rub himself against the crop. Interesting. Exploring and deductions finished for the moment he lay the crop aside, once more noting John's apparent disappointment, however he was far from finished with the crop for tonight. Reaching into his pocket he withdrew a thick black cock ring, holding it up for John to see before it was secured firmly around his erection.

John groaned at the sight knowing his punishment would be intense as the cock ring could only safely stay on for thirty minutes. His nipples and thighs still tingled from the sting of the crop, his enjoyment of the marking still new, and his cock now began to throb as well. Whatever Mycroft had planned it would be as much excruciating torture as it would also be exquisite pleasure. He didn't have to wait long as he felt something blunt press firmly against his entrance before filling him completely. He moaned and closed his eyes once more as Mycroft began to fuck the dildo….vibrator, he didn't even know, in and out of him. He only knew that it felt amazing and Mycroft knew just how to torment him. He would pull out and push the head in and out shallowly, stimulating the tight ring of muscle. Then he would thrust it in deep making sure to hit John's prostate. The cock ring would prevent any release but Mycroft added insult to injury by gripping the swollen cock and stroking it steadily with the thrusts of the toy. John flexed his arms against the shackles and chains seeking some distraction from the growing need for release. Mycroft's position between his thighs prevented him from moving his lower body as well, still he tried to fuck himself onto the toy and into the tight fist unable to fight the instinct though his mind knew it would be fruitless. Then suddenly everything stopped. Mycroft had released his cock and left the toy buried deep within him as he stepped back. John could only blink slowly in dazed confusion as Mycroft lowered first one leg from the table then the other. The toy pressed tightly against John's prostate in this position as his knees dangled over the edge of the table. The sound of chains rattling finally pierced his hazy thoughts and he felt a sharp tug at his ankle as the slack in the chain was tightened. Soon both ankles were securely bound to the table legs pinning him down and keeping the toy wedged deep in his ass. Mycroft returned to his arms as well, removing the last bit of slack left in those chains also.

Then he was gone.

John wondered if this was to be his punishment then, to be bound and ignored. Anything was possible. He flexed against the chains once more, testing their weight and how they felt. He had practically no ability to move, he couldn't see where Mycroft was nor what he was doing. He now had given up every last scrap of control he possessed to Mycroft, which was the point of the gift after all. Yes, they had never tried bondage to this degree and yes, John wanted to try it, but on tonight of all nights when he asked Mycroft to marry him he had wanted to be able to give every last bit of himself to the man he loved. Trusting him fully with any and everything he could have possibly held back before now. He found he enjoyed the feeling of being bound a great deal, waiting for the will of his lover, the anticipation of what would happen next, the knowledge that at some point he was being watched….observed…..bound and helpless. He lost himself in these new sensations, all awareness of time, all concern….gone, trusting that Mycroft would take care of him and keep him safe once more. He was starting to believe he could fall asleep just like this when the jolt of the toy pulsing deep within shocked him instantly into straining against his restraints as his body tried to arch up from the table. The pulse was over almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving him breathless and all of his nerve endings on fire, uncertain of what would come next even as he craved it.

Mycroft sat across the room in Sherlock's chair watching John, his submission so complete, so perfect he found himself fighting his own heated arousal once more. He held the remote to the vibrator in his hand…..waiting in silence. Just as John caught his breath again he turned the toy back on at its lowest setting causing the bound man to moan and twitch. Mycroft increased the speed incrementally, watching John come apart as the vibrations against his prostate grew stronger. By the time he reached the highest setting, John's head was thrashing from side to side, his body taut against his bindings and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, cock rigid purple and weeping against his belly while John moaned and cried against his gag intermittently. He was staggeringly beautiful like this and Mycroft appreciated the gift he had been given all the more. He turned off the toy abruptly leaving John whimpering softly behind his gag, tears of desperation falling from his eyes, and panting heavily as his body tried to relax. Mycroft forced himself not to press his hand against his own erection while he gave John just a moment of reprieve. As John caught his breath in a long shuddering sigh, Mycroft rose from his chair thumbing the control to high instantly. John screamed and jerked hard against his chains. Mycroft crossed the distance quickly to bring this punishment to an end. John didn't even register his presence, so lost in his own pleasure/pain at this point. Mycroft quickly released the cock ring, leaning over to speak low and direct into John's ear giving the command.

"Come for me."

John was on fire in a way he had never felt before, nerve endings sending signals throughout his system but the focus remained on the core of his body. His orgasm writhing deep in his groin eager to escape as the stimulation drove him to the brink of insanity. He had no way to know when this torturous pleasure would end, he could only endure. He was well beyond thought by the time the command came, operating by senses and instinct alone. His body froze, his scream unable to find voice as an intense orgasm ripped through him. Pulse after pulse of cum exploding from his abused cock to land across his chest and abdomen. Even as they slowed and his cock began to soften, the aftershocks still shook him. John couldn't remember ever being so overwhelmed by his own body and struggled to regain his equilibrium.

Mycroft watched it all with immense satisfaction, knowing that John had trusted him to take him apart so completely. His own arousal subsided somewhat as his focus became taking care of John. He could see how far gone his lover was and recognized the struggle he was having finding 'normal' again. Gently he released the shackles from both wrists and ankles lowering John's arms to his sides. Then he unbuckled the gag and eased it from John's mouth before carefully sliding the vibrator from his body, causing only a soft hum from his sub. He tried not to provide any undue stimulation to his strung out sub but spoke quietly as he worked praising John for doing so well…...so beautifully, and telling him how proud he was of him. He left only long enough to get a warm wet cloth, returning to carefully clean the drool from John's face, chin, and throat as well as the cum from his chest and abdomen. When he was finished John was still well under and Mycroft knew this recovery would take some time. Sliding his arms under John's knees and behind his shoulders he lifted him easily from the table and carried him to the sofa where he would be more comfortable. He arranged him on his side with a pillow for his head and tucked the warm blanket from the back of the sofa over him. Fully expecting John to doze lightly or outright sleep for a bit, Mycroft procured a book and prepared a cup of tea before sitting on the other end of the sofa by John's feet. He rested his left hand over one ankle just so John could know he was there then proceeded to read and drink his tea while John recovered himself.

It only took ten minutes or so for John to come around. Waking with a small start, he blinked slowly to orient himself, turning at last towards Mycroft when he felt pressure against his ankle.

"Welcome back love. You took your punishment so well that I shan't blame you for your absence. Now come here." John look a bit guilty as he scrambled awkwardly up to sit beside Mycroft as indicated. A possessive arm wrapped around his naked waist and held him close as Mycroft handed him a warm cup of tea. After months of practice it was easy enough to sense when John was rousing, he had prepared the tea just moments ago, returning to the sofa just before John woke. "Drink your tea love, there is still much to be done tonight."

John leaned against his Dom, enjoying the steady warmth of his body as he sipped his tea, answering softly, "Yes sir." Once he had finished his tea, Mycroft took his cup and returned it to the side-table.

He stroked his fingers through sandy blonde hair as he spoke. "I'm not nearly through using your delicious body for my pleasure John. And I still have some deducing to do as well." He had picked up the riding crop from the coffee table whispering in John's ear, "Spread your legs."

John responded instantly, his focus once more glued to the riding crop as it ran slowly up the inside of his thighs. Remembering the sharp sting of his last punishment for doubting Mycroft, John forced himself to keep his legs apart as the crop approached his cock which was once more showing interest in the proceedings.

Mycroft watched John, watched his body responding to the threat and tease of the crop, delighting in searching out the mystery of John's desire. He let the crop trace over his soldier until it was under the strong jaw. Pushing until John's head tilted back and he was looking at him, he spoke firmly, "Lay along the couch on your stomach and up on your elbows with your head at my lap." As John complied, he turned part-way around in his seat, pulling his left knee up onto the couch as well before he unzipped his trousers and released his long ignored erection. He wanted to see and be able to reach all of John spread out before him while he sucked his cock. He found he made his best deductions about what John wanted when his own dick was shoved down his throat. It made him very aware of even the smallest of John's responses. When John was in position he didn't bother with further commands, merely twisting his fingers in the short hair before him and groaning deeply as he shoved the warm mouth down onto his shaft. John needed little instruction in pleasing Mycroft this way and immediately began sucking and lapping at the swollen cock, taking it deep into his throat and swallowing repeatedly. Mycroft shivered in response, his cock buried deep in John's throat still one of his favorite pleasures. However, he needed to last a bit longer this time. Tugging at the tousled head again until he drew John's eyes up to his, "Slower. I want it to last." He laid the tip of the crop along one cheek and felt John's breath stutter along his cock as his eyes fell half closed in response.

Mycroft wanted to let his head fall back against the sofa and thrust into that moist heat but couldn't indulge that urge at the moment. Eying the body spread out before him he allowed the crop to travel slowly over each curve, every taunt line, until he reached the swell of perfect ass once more. He tapped one thigh indicating his command to spread once more. John complied slowly, his breathing having become more ragged and his eyes fallen closed again under the touch of the crop though he in no way shirked in his cock-sucking duties. John was stunning when he surrendered to subspace and Mycroft admired him for a moment before snapping the crop against one firm cheek. A grunt and low whine vibrated around his cock, not exactly a decisive clue so Mycroft repeated the action on the other cheek with a bit more force. John's hips rutted sharply against the sofa as he grunted again and whimpered softly.

'Getting there,' thought Mycroft.

He rubbed the tip along the crease of John's ass, down over his hole and along his balls, quickly noting the sharp intake of breath and the slight twitch of hips towards the crop. Remembering John's response earlier he commanded sharply, "Use your hands and spread those cheeks open for me but you may not stop sucking."

John shifted his balance carefully, reaching his hands down to his ass while he kept Mycroft's cock in his mouth. His breathing was approaching the panting stage as Mycroft deduced the crop. He knew Mycroft would get there soon and he wanted it so badly. He fought not to rut and give it away instantly, the game was just as important as the result.

Once John had spread his cheeks, baring his twitching hole, Mycroft rubbed the crop firmly over the same again. He noted John's breathing had picked up significantly as well as the speed of his cock-sucking. He thought only a moment while trailing the crop over the area before he snapped the tip sharply against the tight pucker then immediately rubbed the leather tab against the hole. John bucked sharply against the leather tip as a shaky moan escaped his stretched mouth. He barely gave John time to register the sensation before repeating the sharp snap, but this time he pressed the leather tightly against the hole, pressing inwards ever so slightly.

John couldn't stop himself this time, so close to what he wanted. He ground himself back against the leather, releasing his prize as he moaned loudly. This cost him the removal of the crop and a stinging blow across the top of his ass cheeks. He whimpered both from the loss and the blow as his head was jerked forward and down onto the abandoned cock.

"I don't believe I said you could stop John," Mycroft growled at him as he thrust deep into his throat for emphasis and held there, groaning himself watching John's nostrils flare wide as he tried to breathe. "Look at me! I want to see your face when you swallow my cock." John strained to comply, putting his neck at an odd angle since he couldn't use his hands for support. They were still firmly clasped on his ass because he had not been given permission to remove them. Needless to say workouts with the security detail had done wonders for his core strength. Gripping either end of the crop in his hands Mycroft watched John carefully. "That's right love….stay just like that….spread wide while you suck that cock. You want that cock don't you love?" John nodded eagerly around the thickness stretching his mouth open. "That's right. My greedy little slut always wants cock doesn't he…...but there's something else…..isn't there?" John's eyes were heavily lidded again as his Dom used him, Mycroft watched as they slowly tracked down to the crop in his hands, drifting over to his right hand where the handle rested in his closed palm. He felt John moan low in his throat, vibrating around his cock, as those eyes fell closed for a moment before returning to his face. The pieces clicked together in Mycroft's mind. Turning the crop around in his hand he clutched the handle and brought the knotted leather down to stroke John's cheek watching those eyes fall shut again as a shiver of anticipation passed through his sub. When John opened his eyes and met Mycroft's the only response was, "I see."

With only a beat he leaned down and whispered darkly, "But this is about what I want John." He reached forward to the chain trailing from John's collar, twisting it around his hand he gripped the back of the collar holding him firmly in place on his cock as he rose from the sofa dragging John roughly to his knees in the process. Now that he had his answers, he truly had held out quite long enough. He grabbed the collar in both hands and fucked deep into John's mouth and throat with another deep groan of pleasure. He pulled out only to thrust forward again and again as he ground out his next words. "Yes I know what you want John. But this...," he shoved deep listening to John gag as he took the hard cock down, "this is what you are getting. Now take that cock and be happy with it you fucking slut."

John nearly went limp under Mycroft's dominance but did his best to suck and swallow the cock battering his throat, laving it with his tongue when he was able, eagerly seeking his reward.

It did not take long for Mycroft to come, forcefully spilling down John's throat as he gulped and swallowed the salty warm treat. Mycroft held himself steady until the aftershocks passed then tossed John against the sofa cushions while he tucked himself back in and zipped up. Delaying his own gratification always made Mycroft a much more intense Dom, John lay exactly where he'd been tossed awaiting what would happen next. When his clothes were once more impeccable, Mycroft took a single deep breath before grabbing John's chain and collar again. He gave no commands merely dragging John across the floor to the kitchen still on his hands and knees. He pulled on the collar until John rose to his feet before him. Grasping the firm jaw in his hand he treated John to a vicious kiss, sucking the taste of his come from the willing tongue and biting the lower lip sharply.

John gasped and moaned at the rough treatment, hoping for a bit more as he responded to his Dom, his own cock coming to life once again. He was not disappointed as Mycroft broke the kiss suddenly, turning John sharply and shoving his chest down onto the table. His arms were quickly pinned above his head and the non-verbal command to stay was given. Mycroft kicked John's legs further apart and knelt to secure the shackles around his ankles. He left no slack in the chains this time either. Once finished there he moved forward to John's arms, forcing him to stretch across the table top Mycroft shackled each wrist and tightened the chains leaving just enough slack to allow John up onto his elbows if he desired.

Mycroft left him there but returned momentarily, cock ring and riding crop now in hand. John wondered seeing the cock ring again but said nothing. Mycroft saw his question anyway, flexing the crop meaningfully in his hands before he brought the thick knotted handle back to John's face, stroking along his cheek and across his lips. "I am going to give you exactly what you want John," leaning forward he brought his lips to John's ear, that silken voice sending electricity through every nerve ending as he spoke, "but first I am going to mark you. Then I am going to fuck you and I don't won't you finishing before I am ready to fill your ass again."

John shivered in anticipation, sighing deeply as he melted into the table. He never had wanted pain during sex and he still didn't, it was more about the heightened sensitivity of the nerves when they were stimulated in this way. John had at least wanted to try it for the increased intensity of the sex and hadn't known how to talk to Mycroft about it. Just as well he loved deducing John's desires and fantasies, because he was still the only person John would even entertain the idea for. And, it seemed John thought, that perhaps Mycroft had a bit of a fantasy himself judging by his behavior and degree of arousal.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted when Mycroft yanked his head up roughly and pressed the handle against his mouth, commanding him to open. John readily opened his mouth as Mycroft thrust the crop inside commanding him to suck as well. John moaned as he closed his eyes and wrapped his mouth around the thick leather, sucking eagerly as Mycroft thrust the handle in and out of his mouth with one hand, while still holding his head tightly with the other.

"I always knew you were greedy love….but look at you now. One cock isn't even enough for you is it? You want more inside you don't you? Such a slut my soldier is."

John moaned at the filthy talk, always surprised at how it affected him as much as he was that Mycroft did it so well. He sucked and slurped around the handle until Mycroft jerked it away, leaving his head to fall to the table again. He felt deft fingers sliding the cock ring back into place before a stinging line bloomed across his cheeks sending him bucking into the table reflexively even as he gasped loudly.

Mycroft smoothed his palm over the path of the crop, soothing the sting ever so slightly. "Oh that is lovely John! How many should it be I wonder?" He paused a moment in thought before reaching his decision, "Five more I believe, since we're just starting out, and you will count each one as well as be properly appreciative. Do you understand?"

John didn't know if it was excitement or uncertainty that made his voice shake, but he answered nevertheless, "Yes sir, I understand." A crisp, "Very well" was his only reply before the crop whistled through the air, setting fire to his buttocks once again. John couldn't stop the thrust of his hips nor the softly gasped, "Oh god.." before he remembered himself and quickly replied. "One, sir. Thank you sir."

Mycroft hummed in response, admiring the marks he had made only a moment before snapping the crop again, crisscrossing the marks already there. Oh how John bucked and writhed against the table and restraints as the blows fell, before responding in a voice that shook but was eager for more. Mycroft knew he would never forget tonight as long as he lived, sending the third strike across his lover. He paused to rub his hands over the raised marks and the warmed skin, noting the twitching muscles as he did so. John was panting heavily and Mycroft noted the precum dribbling freely from his cock already. He knew John was far more affected by this than perhaps he even anticipated. Mycroft warned him softly, "Last two now," before giving the two blows sharp and swift back-to-back.

John managed to count and thank his Dom properly then all he could manage was mumbling "oh god….oh god" over and over as he gently rutted into the table. It was more than he ever hoped, his ass stinging but sensitive to every touch of Mycroft's hand against him. He could only imagine what it would feel like to be fucked like this and moaned, hoping for just that as he began to plead softly. "Please...oh please My…..please…" That seemed to be all he could get out but as always Mycroft understood. John heard the click of a bottle cap before he felt his cheeks spread with one hand as something blunt but rough pressed against his opening, the cool of the lube an electrifying sensation on his hot skin. As it entered him steadily John could feel various ridges and bumps touching him inside, moaning loudly as it finally passed over his prostate. "Yes! Yes….please….oh god...more!"

Mycroft smirked as he fucked the handle of the crop into John, "That's what you wanted isn't it love? You had this crop custom-made so I could fuck your gorgeous ass with it didn't you? The braided knot especially, you wanted to feel it scraping inside of you, dragging across your prostate over and over." He kept John's still hot cheeks spread with his left hand while his right fucked John steadily, his hand working the crop deftly much like a farm wife would churn butter. John couldn't even manage to speak properly, the stimulation of the crop driving him wild, he could only nod his head meekly as the next thrust tore another groan from him. Mycroft fought his own hungry moan at the sight of John like this, his erection already at full mast again and eager to be buried in his lover's ass. Mycroft considered for only a moment before he acted.

John felt the movement of the crop stop but it was not removed. Mycroft's hands left him for a few moments leaving John wondering but too blissed out to care what was coming next. He soon felt both of Mycroft's hands on his ass spreading him open again, the crop pushed as deeply as they dared. John felt pressure against his hole, his jaw falling open as Mycroft pressed firmly into him alongside the crop. John could only growl at the fullness as Mycroft began to fuck into him. It was too much and not enough at the same time, John loved the fullness and the friction but Mycroft couldn't really let go and fuck him hard with the crop in the way. Still John found himself trying to thrust back against Mycroft for more.

Mycroft chuckled as he thrust into John as hard as he could in this position, "My filthy little slut. Knew you needed more cock in that greedy hole, I shall have to remember that in the future if I am to keep you well fucked." He pulled out fully to work over John's prostate with the knot of the crop again before pushing it deep and thrusting home himself as well, while the endless litany of , "Ahh...ahh…..oh god….yes….more..just more...please," fell from John's lips. He knew neither of them could hold out much longer at this rate. He pulled out long enough to remove the crop and the cock ring to John's deep groan. Gripping John's hips in his hands, he spread his cheeks with his thumbs and without preamble fucked deep into his sub, setting a hard and fast pace.

Though well aware of the pleasure of his body and his growing urge to come, John drifted blissfully in subspace. So much stimulation tonight, Mycroft's dominance so complete and intense, his body was coursing with endorphins and adrenaline and for all intents and purposes, John was high as a kite. His head turned to the left towards the kitchen door. His eyes blinking slowly as his body was used roughly. He moaned softly almost chuckling to himself as he thought he saw movement in the shadows of the hallway. He knew of course that he and Mycroft were alone but his mind continued with its meandering thoughts while he still gazed at the doorway and moaned for still more from his Dom. He was really just staring into space, not focused on anything particular beyond Mycroft's dominance and the sensations of his body.

That was until the light seemed to shift and the shadows solidified and John found himself staring at an impossible ghost standing in the doorway of his kitchen.

He was staring at Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

Sixteen months in hiding had honed Sherlock's skills to a fine art, the trip to 221B made in shadow, avoiding the ever watchful eye of his brother's CCTV cameras. Peering out from a nearby alleyway, he found he was no longer surprised by the intense sense of longing just the sight of the familiar doorway caused to well up within him. Soft light flickering in the windows upstairs let him know someone was home. John, his heart and mind supplied in unison. These long months of torment and suffering to make sure John would be safe were finally over and he could come home to the man who meant more to him than any person ever had before. A man who had become his reason to live, to survive. He could share it all with him now, just a few more feet and he would be there. A moment of exposure was allowed as he swiftly picked the lock of his own door, it wouldn't matter if his brother saw now anyway.

Once inside he took a moment to simply breathe deeply the familiar air of home. No light or sound came from Mrs. Hudson's flat so obviously she was either in bed or out. The doors upstairs must be open as he became aware of a steady litany of noises. He slowly climbed the stairs, avoiding all the boards that would warn of his arrival. As he drew nearer the sounds grew more distinctive; an ongoing series of grunts and moans, as well as several repeated 'Ohs' and 'Ahs'. Years of overhearing John with the few dates he actually brought home or during his frequent bouts of masturbation, left Sherlock in no doubt as to the source of the sounds he was hearing. Either John believed he was completely alone or he had gotten much braver having the flat to himself to be engaging in sex in the main flat with the doors open. Out of habit Sherlock quickly squelched the jealousy he automatically felt for anyone John was with. It wasn't as if they had ever been together and John thought him dead, what did he expect the man to do. He briefly toyed with the idea of leaving and coming back later when the date would be over, however now that he was home he was loathe to leave for any reason. Perhaps he could slip into his room unnoticed and wait; or maybe up to John's room, either way he continued stealthily up the stairs trying to ignore the sounds of pleasure coming from the flat.

He was not prepared for the kitchen doorway to be open when he reached the top of the stairs, nor for the sight and series of rapid deductions that met him in that moment. Almost without thought he drew closer to the door to take the data in more fully. John. John was laid out across their kitchen table, no scratch that, John was shackled to their kitchen table with a collar tight about his neck. A golden chain trailed tantalizingly down his back as he lay spread taut and quite obviously nude. He did not appear to be in any pain or distress, rather quite willingly participating in...whatever this was; though Sherlock thought he did look a bit as if he was drugged. It was only as that deduction registered that Sherlock realized John was looking at him, a hazy blissful look to his eyes. Sherlock stood perfectly still, unsure of what to do even as his mind continued to make deductions, unable to stop processing the scene before him. John's rhythmic grunts in time with the rocking of the table led to perhaps the most startling deduction Sherlock had ever made about his flatmate. John was the one being fucked, not the other way around. And from all indications, his partner was a man. Sherlock struggled to make sense of this new data, his perpetually 'not gay' flatmate was now quite happily bent over getting his ass fucked. What had happened while he was away? Had he missed something about John before? Nothing added up in his head and he again edged slightly closer to the doorway trying to take in more clues. He did not register at first that John's gaze had cleared a bit and sharpened as he actually focused on him.

John wavered somewhere between subspace and alertness taking in the spectre in the doorway even as he himself was being watched. Thinner than he had ever been, hair falling on his shoulders and dark circles under his eyes, the man he was looking at had obviously been through a lot and bore the signs of a story to tell. He couldn't focus on much more than that as Mycroft was intent on wringing every last drop of pleasure possible from his body tonight. Then several things happened.

Mycroft's voice spoke dark and sinful behind him as he continued his assault on John's prostate. "Is this what you wanted John? My soldier likes being held down and used like a whore, hmm?"

John groaned loudly at the filthy words and powerful thrusts, drifting back towards subspace as his lover continued. "It's time to fill that gorgeous ass again, fill you up, and plug you so I can fuck you again and again. That's what you want now isn't it?"

John was just stuttering out a "Please?!" to his Dom when his mind caught up with what he had seen a moment before but failed to register in his sub haze. He had seen the moment Sherlock heard Mycroft's voice and realized who was here with him. He had seen the shock and uncertainty filling those familiar eyes. But most importantly, he saw the moment of decision and the slight turn of the man in front of him; Sherlock was going to leave. He was going to leave and if John knew him at all, he would disappear and never be seen again unless he chose. John couldn't have it, couldn't lose Sherlock all over again with only this brief moment between them. The words snapped out of his mouth without any conscious thought to Mycroft or his own position; John speared Sherlock with the fiercest Captain Watson gaze he could muster as he struggled between states.

"Don't you fucking move!"

Sherlock froze in the doorway. That voice. That commanding Captain's voice he had heard only a few times before but had fantasized about repeatedly since. He then met John's gaze, the gaze that meant business, the gaze that did not bode well for any person that chose to go against it. He had no idea how John could exude such power in his current state but he was helpless against it. He stayed.

Mycroft had frozen as well, uncertain what John was up to. But when nothing further came from his sub he took it as part of the play, John would sometimes act out intentionally to spur Mycroft into rougher sex. Mycroft knew at this point that their 'play' was winding down for tonight and had no problems obliging John's desire in that case. Wrapping the chain firmly around his hand, he grabbed the back of John's collar and jerked his head up and back forcefully. John moaned loudly as he raised up onto his elbows and arched his back beautifully for his Dom. "Trying to be in control again John?! Still haven't learned your lesson tonight then?!" John attempted to shake his head only to have it jerked tight again. Mycroft pulled out slowly then thrust deep into John as hard as he could. "You don't get to tell me what to do John." He pulled out again and John whimpered in anticipation before Mycroft thrust home once more forcing a cry from him. Mycroft continued to pull out and fuck hard into John steadily building speed as he spoke again, "I will fuck you exactly how I want for as long as I want and I will fill your ass with my come until it spills out of you and puddles on the floor if I want it to. Do you understand me?!"

John choked out a 'Yes sir', knowing he couldn't last much longer at this rate. Sensitized and overstimulated by the activities of the evening and now aware of his audience, John was on the verge of a mind-blowing orgasm. He kept an eye on Sherlock in his peripheral vision while he enjoyed Mycroft's thick cock pounding into his ass. He was already panting and he knew it would not be long now, the sensations burning through his groin. Sherlock stayed put, still looking a bit shell-shocked as he watched John. His cheeks looked a bit flushed and John wondered briefly if he was feverish before allowing his gaze to slide over his friend once more. It was John's turn to bring wide surprised eyes to meet Sherlock's piercing stare as the sight of a rather large erection in those trousers triggered his own most splendid orgasm. John was practically yelling as wave after wave racked his body.

Mycroft had released John's collar and grabbed his hips, jerking him firmly back into his thrusts as he fucked right through John's orgasm and quickly followed, spilling himself deep inside his lover. John lay against the table, trying to keep his eyes open and on Sherlock as he fought to catch his breath. Mycroft remained sheathed in John's body bracing his weight against the table with his hands while he too breathed deeply. Once they had calmed, he leaned forward laying over the sweaty back as he slid his left hand up John's arm to entwine their hands, admiring the effect of their rings together once more. He nuzzled against John's ear, kissing him softly, "You were wonderful, love. So perfect…..simply beautiful."

John smiled and turned his head to meet Mycroft's lips in a gentle kiss. As they parted he gripped Mycroft's fingers in his and whispered, "We have company My," his gaze drifting over to the silent figure in the doorway.

Mycroft followed John's gaze, blissful smile still on his face. The smile was rapidly replaced with surprise, then just as quickly wiped of any expression as he donned the stoic mask he had always worn with his brother. After a brief head-to-toe assessment Mycroft spoke, his voice sounding as cool and collected as ever, "No need to lurk in doorways, brother dear. Might as well come in, it is still your home after all."

John couldn't help rolling his eyes at that. He had managed to forget how antagonistic the brothers could be toward each other having lived with the gentler, kinder side of Mycroft for the last year. He would certainly have to see what he could do to change that. Shifting slightly to remind Mycroft of their current state he finally spoke, his voice low and soft after this evenings events. "My? Don't you think..uhm, we should clean up?"

Mycroft's expression instantly softened as he returned his attention to John, just because they were finished did not mean his responsibility to John had ended. "Certainly John," he rubbed a soothing hand along the rapidly cooling back, "just a moment." Sherlock had taken Mycroft's advice and entered the flat properly, though noting the state of his chair he was unsure of where to sit, so he now stood by the fireplace silently watching the proceedings. Mycroft eased out of John's well used hole, but not without a slight wince noted, quickly tucking himself back into his trousers for the time being and zipping up. He picked up the black plug from the bag he had placed on a nearby kitchen chair and carefully inserted it as John moaned softly. Then he wasted no time removing all of John's restraints, rubbing ankles and legs, wrists and arms as he did so. At last helping John to stand beside the table, he ignored his brother's presence and took John into his arms, his hands moving slowly up and down the muscular back and over the curve of ass, soothing and gentling John after so much rough use tonight. John sighed as he sank into the familiar embrace, comforted in spite of the shock he had just had. After several moments of this, Mycroft gently gripped John's chin and tilted his face up to met his lips. They met in a soft lingering kiss, reassuring each of the love for the other. When they parted John finally spoke again.

"Perhaps I should shower and get dressed while you two talk, hm?"

Mycroft gave a slight nod, "If you wish, love. Do you want me to remove your collar?" In that one question, he had asked so many. Questions only he and John understood. 'Are you okay?' 'Will you be alright?' 'What do we do now?'

John understood everything Mycroft was asking and thought a moment before answering. "No, leave it on." And Mycroft understood his reply. 'No, I'm not okay. I need the comfort and reassurance of your collar around my neck right now.' 'Yes, I will be alright, I just need some time.' and 'I don't know what else to do."

Mycroft nodded again, retrieving John's clothes from the arm of his chair, he handed them to John with another small kiss, "Don't be long."

John merely smiled, "Certainly, it is still our anniversary after all." He placed his own kiss on Mycroft's lips before addressing Sherlock for the first time, "Sherlock, if you'll excuse me." And that was all. He took his clothes and strolled towards the bathroom unashamedly naked, the chain hanging from his collar down his back drawing attention to the plug peeking from between his lush cheeks as he walked. John remained oblivious to the hungry, covetous gaze of both of the men he left behind.

Sherlock had taken in every moment between John and his brother, each minute shift in expression and tone. Obviously something significant had happened while he had been gone but he was so rattled that he couldn't begin to correctly process the data he was gathering. He took in the flat, so many changes visible, that he wasn't sure it still felt like home, even though he saw familiar things as well. Everything was wrong. He had suffered greatly while he struggled alone trying to be sure John would always be safe. He was supposed to come back to their home, to his chair and to his...His John making him tea….and it would be alright. Everything he had undergone and survived would be okay because John would be there and John always made it better. He would be okay with John. Sherlock sucked in a deep breath trying to calm the chaos in his head. He was here…..John was here…..but it wasn't right. Somehow his own brother had usurped his place with John, had achieved with John everything he ever wanted but somehow wasn't able to pursue. He was confused, angry even, but so unsettled right now that he didn't want to lash out and rock the boat. Something in his chest ached and his body was suddenly more exhausted than he thought it had ever been, even during his trials the past months. If he had been able to talk with John, his friend might have told him he was heartbroken and he would scoff at the ludicrous notion.

He had yet to say anything, trying desperately to make sense of a world gone surreal around him. It finally registered that Mycroft was actually being uncharacteristically silent, he could never pass up the opportunity to make a snide remark at Sherlock's expense so what was up. He refocused his attention on his brother and fought to observe once more. He was thinner than he had ever been and dressed far more casually than Sherlock had seen him since they were children. Must be John's influence he thought, but all things considered Mycroft looked….good. Healthy and….happy. Happy with His John! He thought about all the times Mycroft had chastised him for his sentiment over John and fought to squelch the anger and jealously again. He just didn't think he needed to alienate his brother at this point so he locked those thoughts away as best he could when his Mind Palace seemed to be undergoing some kind of upheaval. He observed Mycroft carefully cleaning…..wait…..cleaning? Yes, his uptight, "summon the servants" brother was cleaning up the kitchen, locking the restraints back into place and even wiping up the….products of their activities. And resolutely determined to leave the first step up to him it appeared. Sherlock took another deep breath and stepped towards the kitchen.

"You..ah, you didn't seem overly shocked to see me, brother," he stated as blandly as he could manage.

Mycroft stiffened slightly but turned to face him. "No. I can't say that I was, Sherlock." He picked up the black bag from the chair and gestured towards Sherlock's chair pulling out some kind of wipe or cleaner. "I'll have your chair taken care of in a moment Sherlock. When this dries it should be perfectly sanitary for sitting." That was all. He moved across the room and dedicated himself to cleaning the chair without another word. He managed to conceal his nerves completely from his younger brother. He wasn't dreading any teasing from Sherlock about his sentiment and affection with John. No, he fought the irrational fear that his world was about to implode. John loved him, he knew that. John had just asked him to marry him and vice versa. They were planning on a future together. Just because Sherlock had returned, nothing had to change, nothing at all. He repeated this mantra, constantly hoping that he would finally convince himself. The problem being that he was intimately acquainted with how deeply John had loved, perhaps even still loves, Sherlock. He nearly died of heartbreak without him. And he was fairly certain, despite his remarks to the contrary previously, that Sherlock loved John. And now he was home. He was home and Mycroft had no idea what was going to happen. He wielded all the power of the British government on a daily basis but he could not just flex his political muscle and make this go away.

Sherlock stared at his brother, unable to reconcile the brother he knew with this man before him. And his question still wasn't answered to his satisfaction. He allowed his steps to carry him across the floor until he was beside Mycroft. "But why were you not shocked?" He wasn't sure why he needed to know so badly. He had been most studious in avoiding every manner of detection for sixteen months yet his brother barely blinked when he apparently returned from the dead.

Mycroft straightened from his task and faced his brother directly for the first time. He saw exactly what John had seen, all the signs of fatigue, malnourishment, mistreatment, and suffering. He had no doubt that the person responsible for all of those reports in his red folder was indeed Sherlock and he had a pretty good notion of at least some of what his brother had been through to get back home. He acted the second the impulse struck and soon had his arms wrapped tightly around his brother. "It is so good to have you home again Sherlock. We have missed you…..I, have missed you greatly."

Sherlock cleared his throat gruffly and shifted his shoulders before returning the embrace. He intended only a brief hug but once he was wrapped fully in his brother's embrace he found it difficult to let go. He had been so alone, without friend or family to aid him and it had been harder than anything he had ever done in his life.

Mycroft didn't comment, only held his brother more tightly. As the embrace drug on he finally answered the question. "I have a folder filled with reports. Reports about components of Moriarty's organization found dead or captured, evidence for arrests and convictions mysteriously turning up, but most intriguing are the reports of a man….always in the shadows, always involved, but never quite seen."

Sherlock pulled back at last to look into his brother's eyes. Eyes which shone with a warmth and love he had not seen since they were much younger. He couldn't help but marvel at his brother's tenacity. Even after what appeared to be a most decided death, his brother and John still watched out…looked for him...somehow.

"We had no proof that it was you, John and I, no way of contacting you or helping you. But we hoped, Sherlock. As dangerous a thing as hope can sometimes be, John and I kept an eye on the reports as they came in. We watched as Moriarty's web crumbled and we hoped that somehow it was you and that you might yet come back to us. So now you finally have, and now you know why we weren't shocked to see you, brother dear. We had faith in you and believed in at least the possibility that you had somehow survived and set out on this mission alone."

Sherlock could not believe it. Faith in him, his brother said he had faith in him. It was the highest praise he had earned in years and it had cost him dearly to do so. John's faith he more or less expected to a certain degree but Mycroft's was a welcome surprise.

" I should be beyond furious with you simply for having to deal with all these repercussions if nothing else. But contrary to popular belief, I care a great deal for my brother, you see, and I am very grateful to have you back." Mycroft politely ignored the tears glistening at the edges of Sherlock's eyes, patting his back and squeezing his arm as he stepped away. "Best let me get on with the clean-up, John will be out soon and we won't want to leave you with our mess as you try to settle back in."

Sherlock quickly brushed at his eyes before catching up with Mycroft's statement. "Leave me...to settle back in….doesn't John still live here?" He scanned everything over again quickly but nothing seemed so different as to scream John's absence at him. He needed John so everything would be okay and he could not comprehend what Mycroft was implying, or rather he refused to allow himself to comprehend.

Mycroft looked Sherlock over with both puzzlement and concern. "John is more comfortable staying here when I am out-of-town or tied up for an extended period of time but otherwise he lives with me at the townhouse Sherlock. I would have thought that would be obvious to you."

Sherlock shuffled back and forth on his feet, as he ran his fingers through his dirty hair absently contemplating a hot shower later and mumbling something about being distracted before spinning around and pacing to the window. He paused when he saw his violin, obviously well cared for still, his fingers brushing softly over the strings as he let his attention drift out to the street below. He was trying his best to analyse everything he had been observing since he arrived, slowly deciphering bits and pieces. He finally hit upon the sight of two left hands joined together and the gleaming, if not matching rings, on each corresponding ring finger and the word anniversary. He closed his eyes, clutching at the window frame for support and forcing himself to take slow deep breaths to ward off the panicky feelings he was having.

Mycroft continued his cleaning, gathering up their supplies and such but casting searching looks toward Sherlock every so often. He could tell something wasn't quite right with his brother, his deductions slightly off, but he chalked it up to fatigue. Sherlock probably just needed a hot meal and a long rest, then he would be right as rain again.

When Sherlock thought he could speak without betraying his anxiety, he asked the obvious question on his mind. "Are you and John married then? I heard him say anniversary."

It was the first time Sherlock had mentioned his relationship with John and Mycroft tensed as he replied. "No. Not yet. We have only become engaged tonight actually. The..uhm..anniversary is for our being together as a couple for a year." Mycroft wasn't trying to be hurtful but he did believe in being direct. Best if Sherlock understood where things stood up front.

Sherlock released his death grip on the window frame and rubbed some circulation back into his hand as he breathed a silent sigh of relief and replied, "I see." It would still be okay. John wasn't married. Sherlock quickly did the math, so four months after his 'fall' something happened, something that brought John and Mycroft together. Impossible for him to guess and irrelevant beyond morbid curiosity. It didn't matter anyway. John would come home to him, he just knew it, John was His first and he would be here where he belonged. He would take care of him like he always had before and everything would be alright. He could make everything alright again as long as he had John.

Before the fall, Sherlock would have censored himself and questioned his rambling and obsessive thoughts about John. But something had happened during his time away and John had become the talisman that pulled him through his lowest points, the beacon that guided him home. He had been able to take refuge in thoughts of John when the physical trials became too much, when the sanctity of his Mind Palace was threatened. It had been an imperfect solution and he had not survived completely intact but John would make it all better. He just knew it. Without His John, all of his suffering would become brutally real and he didn't think he could face that. No….John had to be here…..John had to help.

Mycroft placed their bag by the door and turned his troubled gaze back to his silent brother, "Look Sherlock, I know things will seem a bit….strange for you now, being back here. But John and I are here for you, we're going to help you with everything? You won't be on your own anymore. That's a good thing isn't it?"

Sherlock remained silent but nodded his head and waved briefly in acknowledgement. Still he did not turn away from the window. Until the water stopped flowing in the pipes. He turned around eagerly to face the bathroom. John was finished he thought happily to himself. John was coming.

{*} {*} {*}

With so much happening at one time, the onset of actual shock had taken several minutes. John was already beginning to hyperventilate before he shut the bathroom door, leaning his forehead and hand against the wood. "Sherlock," whispered from his lips to the empty bathroom. "Sherlock," he repeated, noticing the clothes in his left hand trembling. "Sherlock," broke forth again on a sob, as the clothes fell to the floor. John quickly covered his mouth with his now free hand as the sobbing threatened to become uncontrollable, shielding his pain from the two men who could most easily pick up on it. He slid to his knees and let the tears flow, right hand still pressed to the wood as if reaching to reclaim his long dead friend. So much sorrow, anger, and self recrimination had been for nothing as the cause now stood in his sitting room vividly alive. He had nearly died because of it for Christ's sake! His body trembled as the chills set in and he rocked back and forth in an effort to warm himself. How could Sherlock do that? How could he make him believe…...and then just waltz right back in like it wasn't anything. John had not felt this much pain and hurt along with anger since the 'Fall' itself. Yet all of that was easily over-ridden by the joy at having Sherlock back. Having the man he loved more than anything back among the living….back with him. He could tell him now...tell him how he felt….tell him….they could…...John's hand had finally slid from his mouth as the sobs grew quieter only to rest against Mycroft's collar at his throat.

'Mycroft!' Oh God! What in the world was he even thinking?! He glanced down at his shaking hand and the shiny new ring there. He was engaged to Mycroft! He loved Mycroft! Sherlock had just returned and witnessed him having very intense and intimate sexual relations with his brother! He cried quietly cradling his head in his hands. What were they going to do? It was really all too much for one night, the anniversary, the engagement, submitting completely to Mycroft, and then being confronted with the biggest desire your heart ever had returning from the dead. John could not stop the tears nor the choking sobs that still tore from his throat periodically, but he knew that Mycroft would come check on him if the shower did not start soon. He was too ashamed of his own heart's immediate betrayal to face either man yet, so he forced himself up from the floor and over to start the water, steadfastly ignoring his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he did. He picked up his clothes and placed them on the edge of the sink while the water warmed, before carefully unbuckling the collar around his neck. He never actually showered with it on and he fingered the soft leather lovingly as he placed it with his clothes and stepped into the shower.

He stood for the longest time under the hot spray, the tears that still fell disappearing with the water while he waited for it to relax the tension in his body. When it became apparent that he would not be able to relax, he reached for a flannel and began vigorously soaping up. Every time he tried to think rationally about tonight, a new sob broke forth so he forced himself to stop thinking. He could never leave the bathroom to face his best friend and his fiancé like this. John forced himself into soldier mode, shutting away his chaotic emotions and instead channeling his energy into getting through the rest of this evening without giving himself away. Sherlock looked like he might need some medical attention so he allowed the doctor to dominate his mind as he thought over what his friend may require. He soon found himself focused and calm, ready to face what awaited outside of the bathroom. He turned off the shower, quickly towelling dry and beginning to dress. The collar went back on first. John could acknowledge that his emotional state, while locked up tight for the time being, was precarious and he desperately needed that reassurance. Once he was dressed, he wet his flannel with the coldest water he could get from the tap and pressed it over his eyes hoping to conceal at least some of his distress from the sharp eyes and keen minds outside. He finished by scrubbing quickly over his face with the cloth to disguise some of the redness around his eyes with the redness of a fresh scrub. At last he was as ready as he could make himself. He turned to face the door, squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and reached for the doorknob.

{*} {*} {*}

Sherlock stepped forward eagerly as he heard the bathroom door open, smiling when he saw John approaching. He had had very limited opportunity to interact with John, to reconnect, and he was feeling the need to do so acutely. He froze in his steps and dropped his happy, expectant smile into something more bland when John stopped beside Mycroft and slid his arm around his waist.

Mycroft, however, had been watching Sherlock the whole time….and he saw everything.

Focusing his attention on John, Mycroft easily saw the degree of distress he was in as well as the soldier's resolve to just get on with things. His arm instinctively tightened around John's waist, his eyebrows furrowed in silent concern. John knew right away that Mycroft saw through him and only hoped his distance from Sherlock, both across the room and the intervening months, would keep it from him. John reached up to kiss Mycroft softly before speaking with false cheer, "All set then love?" His eyes quietly pled with Mycroft to just let it go for now. After carefully scanning him over again, Mycroft relented.

"Yes. Everything cleaned and ready to go. How about you?"

John glanced over at Sherlock, thinking he looked even paler than he had earlier. "Well just from looking at him I thought Sherlock might be in need of a complete exam from his doctor. See if there is anything I need to treat before I order him to eat and sleep." John sent a meaningful glare towards Sherlock and he pointedly ignored him. John had been grateful there had not been shouting going on when he came out of the bathroom. However, with these two even silence could be quite brutal and deadly. John wasn't sure how long they could stay in close company this first evening before something broke. "Do you want to stay while I do that? Or take our things home and I'll meet you back there in a bit?"

Mycroft would gladly stay, happily do anything John wanted in order to ease his distress. He had also seen the naked hunger on Sherlock's face when John came out before he managed to cover it up. He couldn't stop the nervous anxiety he himself felt at the prospect of leaving John alone with Sherlock; but he felt it was only fair to give John the chance to speak with Sherlock privately as well. If the conflict and anxiety he had seen in John's face was anything to go by, nothing would be gained or resolved by keeping the two men chaperoned at all times. Curse him for a fool with a noble heart! "It has been a very long day John. I think I shall go home, maybe have a relaxing bath while you finish up here." He chuckled a bit too gaily and said, "Don't even be surprised if you come home and find me dead asleep already."

John cocked his head and studied his love. He had come to know him very well this past year and he read the doubts and insecurities behind those placid blue eyes as easily as Mycroft read his distress. That he was the cause of those doubts was nearly the undoing of his resolve. "My?" He spoke softly and intimately to keep the interaction just between them. "My...you don't have to go. I'm not asking you to go.." He was promptly silenced with a lingering kiss before Mycroft replied.

"I know, love. But I am choosing to." Another quick kiss and Mycroft gathered the bag by the door and his suit, now neatly hung, "I shall see myself out so you can get on to your exam, John. Sherlock? Behave for once and I will see you soon I am certain. There will be much to do." Then he was down the stairs without another word.

John lingered uncertainly by the door until he heard the downstairs door shut firmly and Mycroft's muffled voice speaking to Clarence. With a deep breath and a sigh, he turned to face Sherlock.

Sherlock had again been studying John and Mycroft intently, his deductions only marginally improved from earlier. He eyed the collar still at John's throat, well-worn but lovingly cared for, and wanted to understand more. It was nothing he could have ever pictured, well...maybe for Mycroft but certainly never John. Obviously there was much he either misjudged or simply did not know about John. Had he always suffered a blind spot in his deductions about John? When John finally faced him he spoke abruptly, "He loves you a great deal, John. I….I never realized he could….love, for one thing, but…..the way he loves you?" He trailed off, uncertain of where he meant to go with that deduction. He didn't want to think about Mycroft. He was here with John, alone in 221B, everything as it should be. Except that it wasn't.

"Well, no use dragging it out Sherlock. You look like shit and I'm sure you haven't been taking care of yourself properly either. So come on, off with the kit and let's see the damage, see what I need to treat or let go."

Sherlock flinched when John mentioned damage and turned back to the window. "That's really not necessary John. I just need to eat and sleep."

"I am pretty sure that I need to be the judge of that, unless you became a doctor while you were away. Now this is no time to be skittish." John stepped forward and reached to remove Sherlock's coat only to find himself on the floor a moment later. He was too startled to move for a moment, glancing up at his friend, only to see a Sherlock he had never known. Sherlock stood over him on alert, ready to strike at the least provocation. But his eyes frightened John the most, they were not just cold and calculating, they were hard. The eyes of a man who would not give an inch, a man without mercy, a man who had killed and would do so again if required. John remained frozen on the floor watching Sherlock. The friend he knew had a heart capable of tenderness and kindness, a heart that never should have been exposed to whatever Sherlock had had to go through. In a few moments John saw Sherlock's eyes soften, saw him glance around in confusion before lighting upon John. His eyes widened in awareness as he backed away from John until he hit the window behind him. He stood trembling and breathing raggedly against the window but he made no move toward John. Holding up his hands in surrender, John slowly stood, darting his eyes over his friend, seeing him in a new light. John saw a man so acclimated to the fight that he could not figure out who to trust. He couldn't tell what was safe and what was threat. Sherlock had spent the past sixteen months being a different kind of soldier, one not bound by conventional rules of warfare. John certainly recognized PTSD when he saw it.

"Sherlock? It's okay….it's just John. I won't touch you again alright? You're safe here, you can relax." He watched closely as Sherlock returned to himself, at least he had to be thankful Sherlock still registered his name as one to trust. Sherlock seemed embarrassed as he drew his coat more tightly about himself.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't mean…..I would never want to….I'm sorry," he finally mumbled turning away from John again. Sherlock was kicking himself for acting that way with John, the one person in all the world he trusted implicitly. It was just a damned reflex, ingrained during his travels. But the fact remained he had struck out at John and convinced him he was at least partially deranged when he really needed and wanted contact with John. He simply wasn't prepared for him to actually see the wounds and scars. He didn't want to deal with that tonight. He only wanted to be with John but allowing an exam would bring all the pain in between them. John would have questions, John would want to talk, and Sherlock just couldn't do that…..not yet, maybe not ever.

When Sherlock turned his back, John sighed considering what he could do to help Sherlock even a little if an exam wasn't going to be allowed. He decided to focus on the domestics for the time being and disappeared into the bedroom. Sherlock still seemed lost in thought when he returned so John cleared his throat quietly to get his attention before speaking. "Uhm….the bed is freshly made and turned down for you. There are fresh towels and all your favorite items are still in the bathroom, including your razor. I put clean clothes and a dressing gown in the bathroom for you." John paused when Sherlock finally turned to face him, his eyes questioning John trying to understand what he wanted….what was the goal. John could only sigh at the mistrust in his motives but he pressed on just the same. "There is plenty of food left from dinner. If you...if you wanted to get a hot bath then I could warm you up something to eat while you do that and have it ready when you get out. If you like that is?" Sherlock glanced with longing towards the bathroom, then darted his gaze back to John. "I promise I won't come in unless you call me Sherlock. I won't pry if you're not ready. I would hope that you know you can come to me if it is something serious but I even put the med-kit in the bathroom so you can tend to yourself if you won't allow me to help you. I just….I want to be able to do something to make you feel at home again, because this is still your home."

Sherlock finally seemed to relax a bit and a small smile tugged at one side of his mouth. "Alright."

John smiled in return, "Alright. And make some noise while you're at it…...just so I know you haven't passed out or anything. Recite a poem, talk, sing a song." That earned him a severely raised eyebrow from Sherlock so John merely chuckled, "Well...do Something." Sherlock smirked as he moved towards the bathroom before John called out, "Uhm….wine or tea with your dinner?"

Sherlock actually allowed himself a real smile, "Tea John, definitely tea." He knew John would make it better…..it was just going to take time.

{*} {*} {*}

The shower had been a welcome treat, Sherlock running out all of the hot water scrubbing dirt and dried blood from his body, inspecting the fresher wounds for any signs of infection and making sure there was no fresh bleeding to tip-off John. He had managed to keep up a steady litany of English poetry interspersed with bawdy limericks he had picked up in his time underground, enough to keep John fully cognizant of his consciousness until he was out of the shower. He utilized the med-kit in the bathroom, nothing required stitches, nothing was feverish and he dressed anything likely to bleed before he pulled on his cotton shirt and pajama pants. He found clippers in the medicine cabinet and made quick work of tidying up his unruly nails. He lamented his overlong hair but it could wait. Maybe when he had settled himself a bit more he could get John to trim it for him. He knew he wouldn't be able to go out to have it done for a while and the length really didn't suit him. Still he felt far more human than he had for the past sixteen months once he left the bathroom. The smell of the warmed over beef and fresh tea set his stomach to growling as soon as he got a whiff. He followed his nose to the kitchen and found John just putting everything on a tray.

"Smells wonderful John."

John chuckled softly. "Well it's not my cooking tonight but it is delicious and will fill up the holes." He finished what he was doing and turned to grab the bread only to come up short when Sherlock pressed into his personal space. He froze. He made no provocative movements. He let Sherlock lead. He met those sharp grey-blue eyes, boring intimately down on him as they had so many times before. John swallowed convulsively. There it was: the unspoken 'thing' that had always been present between Sherlock and he. The simmering tension he never had the opportunity to act on and now he couldn't…..shouldn't…..couldn't! He mentally chastised himself and stepped back putting some distance between the two of them.

Sherlock saw the thoughts flitting across John's face and fought his smirk at John's internal struggle over his closeness. Just as he thought he could press his advantage, John's smile tightened around the edges and he backed away from him. Before Sherlock had a chance to act John had snagged the bread and the tray and was already moving into the sitting room. Sherlock attempted to discipline the sullen expression he was sure he wore as he followed John. He was relieved when John sat on the sofa as he still viewed his chair rather dubiously. As he sat, John handed him his tea which he instantly sipped, gratefully leaning back with the largest sigh John had probably ever heard. "Oh goodness, I have missed your tea John. You simply have no idea." John sipped his own cup and made no comment still lost in his own thoughts it seemed. Sherlock rested his cup and hands in his lap until John finally looked at him. "I missed you John. More than I have ever missed anything in my life, I missed you. I missed this, just the ins and outs of our everyday life. I...I missed us John."

John fought the surge of anger he felt at those words. He didn't want any negativity tonight. His fingers tightened on his cup before he managed the most politic answer he could come up with, "Well, you didn't have to…..miss me, you know. You could have made different choices." When Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, John stopped him with a hand on his thigh. A hand he quickly withdrew. "I don't want to talk about it tonight Sherlock. I don't want to argue or be upset. I just want to sit here, have some tea and a meal with you and know that for now you are alright and here with me. Okay?"

Sherlock stared at John for just a moment, then nodded and resumed sipping his tea. Things felt uncomfortable again and Sherlock wasn't sure why, but he concentrated on giving John what he asked for, John had joined him with his own bowl, probably because he knew Sherlock would eat better with him than alone. Sherlock supposed the strategy worked. The tea warmed him and whetted his appetite causing him to surprise John when he finished his bowl and a slice of bread with butter. When John offered another cup of tea he nodded so eagerly that John chuckled as he put the kettle on and Sherlock counted that a success because John's laughter was one of the joys in his life. One more thing he had missed while he was away. His pleasant stupor lasted until John returned with his tea and none for himself.

"Well it has been nice, just being here like this. But it is really getting late Sherlock, if the tea will do you I am going to head home now. Mycroft will be waiting."

Sherlock panicked but managed to ask calmly, "Well since it is so late, why don't you just stay here? I'm sure Mycroft won't care. And besides...what if I need you?"

John shook his head because he was sure he would not be able to explain the important and sentimental nature of anniversaries to Sherlock. "No Sherlock. I have to get home now and I think you will be just fine until tomorrow. I'm sure we will be back to see about resurrecting Sherlock Holmes from the dead."

Sherlock lashed out before he could stop himself. "But this is your home, here with me! This is where you belong! You know you do! You have to stay!"

John was taken aback by the outburst. His heart broke in a way he never expected it could when he answered Sherlock. "No Sherlock. It's not anymore….not like that….not since you went away. I am sorry Sherlock. I will see you tomorrow but…..I have to leave now. Good-night." He couldn't stay any longer. He couldn't look at Sherlock's face and the myriad of emotions racing across it. Emotions he had never carried so near the surface were far too visible to John right now. He felt the waves crashing against the dam and knew he couldn't stay to deal with Sherlock's distress as well as his own. So he said his good-bye, grabbed his jacket and was down the stairs and out the door onto the street before Sherlock had a chance to answer. He headed towards home knowing he could summon a car in no time but choosing to walk instead. He needed to think about everything away from both of the Holmes men in his life and the fresh air, he hoped, would help clear his head.

It took him forty-five minutes to make the walk to the townhouse. He didn't think he was any closer to answers for dealing with the unique situation he now found himself in but he did realize one thing. As he entered the townhouse and shut the door behind him, he actually breathed a sigh of relief and felt much of his tension ebb. But it was not just the home, he knew, it was Mycroft. Mycroft had been an oasis of strength and calm in his life from the moment they first got together. Mycroft meant stability and security where Sherlock only seemed to bring chaos and heartache. John knew without a doubt that he still loved Sherlock, tonight only proved that. But he also loved Mycroft. He had managed to pick up the shattered pieces of his life and build a new one with Mycroft, and they were happy. They were engaged and would be married. He would not allow Sherlock's reappearance to jeopardize what they had built together. John shed his jacket and headed upstairs, eager to return to his lover and their bed. He needed Mycroft.

The bedroom was dark when John entered but his eyes adjusted quickly. The bed was still made and empty but he soon located Mycroft. He was sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs near the window. He often liked to sit and read there but the moonlight through the window fell on a sleeping man, head fallen against one of the sides and fingers loosely wrapped around an empty tumbler in his lap. John smiled and shook his head, enjoying the simplicity of an everyday moment like this. He toed his shoes off by the door and padded quietly over. He knelt in front of Mycroft and carefully eased the glass from his hands, sitting it on the side table for safe-keeping. He let his fingers stroke softly along the relax jaw as he called quietly, "My?"

It took a couple of tries before Mycroft stirred, blinking slowly awake only to appear somewhat surprised to see John there. "My? You should have gone to bed love. A crick in your neck will not make you a pleasant man to deal with at the office."

Mycroft straightened, stretching his neck at the same time while he tried to decide how to answer John. He couldn't admit that a part of him was afraid John would not come home to him tonight; he couldn't say he feared that if he went to bed alone tonight, he would wake up alone, possibly from now on. It wasn't fair to John to let his fears and insecurities dictate his actions. He finally settled on the somewhat lame but true reply, "I wanted to wait for you. I prefer going to bed together, especially tonight….our anniversary after all." He smiled easily at John.

John returned the smile but could see behind the mask to the real answer. He was not upset by the doubts. Given Mycroft's own chronic insecurities regarding his inexperience with relationships before John, and what he knew about John's feelings for Sherlock, he had a genuine foundation for his worries. It was up to John to allay those fears. "Oh, My. I'm here now, come to bed." Taking Mycroft's hand, he tugged gently until he was on his feet and following him to the side of the bed. John quickly stripped where they stood, then reached to rid Mycroft of his pajamas. Long fingers curled over his hands to stop him.

"How is.." Mycroft began but was quickly cut off by the firm voice of Captain Watson.

"NO! Not here Mycroft. Not here, not now. Now, there is only you and I…..and I want to keep it that way." Mycroft nodded quietly and released his hold on John's hands allowing himself to be divested of his pajamas and pants. John pressed himself close to Mycroft, curling his arms up and over his shoulders as he tilted his face up to receive a welcome kiss. There was no rush, no play, only two men showing their love for each other. A slow burn building as each took time to arouse and please their partner in all the intimate ways only they knew. Soon John had Mycroft sitting against the headboard of their bed, his head thrown back as John worked his cock and balls with mouth and tongue. He was only mildly surprised when he felt a lubed finger press into him, soon followed by a second. He merely assumed John wanted to take him as well for their anniversary. John worked him carefully but did not avoid his prostate, quickly having Mycroft on edge and thrusting into his mouth. Suddenly it all stopped. Mycroft opened his eyes to see John straddled over his lap, one hand behind him as he eased the plug from his ass. Mycroft quickly grabbed John's hand to stop him.

"John! You shouldn't…..you don't have to…...I.." he trailed off. He was slightly embarrassed to admit his concern but finally spit it out. John was looking at him expectantly, hand still in place. "You've already been used rather roughly tonight. You don't need to do this as well."

John smiled, leaning forward to kiss him quiet. Mycroft's hand fell away from it's hold only to cup John's face instead as he deepened the kiss. Realizing he had been manipulated when he felt John lowering slowly onto his hard cock, he broke the kiss and met John's amused eyes.

"You see My, I do need to do this….I need you inside me just now, part of me. The way we've been….the way we will continue to be." Mycroft had no reply to that. He could only watch as John rose and fell on his cock once more. John took his time, riding him slowly, the sensations intensified by the pace, both men losing themselves for a time. Mycroft allowed his hands and lips to roam over John's body wherever they could reach, pinching and suckling nipples, stroking slowly over his cock, smoothing over the straining back and gripping the powerful thighs. John was moaning and humming softly, his eyes closed in pleasure, in response to Mycroft's ministrations. His eyes suddenly flew open and he paused, leaning forward to whisper low and filthy in Mycroft's ear causing the large man to shudder. "Besides My, I never did get my ride."

Mycroft let out a low moan as John leaned back further, bracing his hands atop the thighs beneath him and with a cheeky wink to his lover began riding his cock in earnest. Rising as far as he could before plunging back down, his own cock flopping up and down against his belly with his movements. It was a show just for him and Mycroft could not get over how stunning John looked spread out before him taking his pleasure. Soon the pace increased, both John and Mycroft moaning loudly as they neared their limit. Mycroft began to stroke John firmly determined that he would come first, while John groaned and bit his lip, shaking his head as he tried to hold off, but to no avail. John quickly reached his peak crying out as he began to come over Mycroft's hand and abdomen. Mycroft, well used to the cues of John's body, pulled him forward, holding him firmly against him as he thrust up into him hard and fast reaching his own climax in only a few strokes as well. They clung to each other then, chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other, John's head resting on Mycroft's shoulder as they caught their breath.

It was John who led the way again, leading Mycroft to the shower to clean up and then back to bed where they quickly fell asleep wrapped in each others arms. The world outside and all its commensurate woes pushed aside as the two lovers took comfort in each other.

**AUTHOR'S Note:** First I must apologize for taking so long to get this update posted! I let myself get distracted with some other things and, before I knew it, it was much longer than I liked since I updated. I will resume alternating back and forth between my stories to try and prevent that from happening again! That being said, I did use the time to think through what our three men were going through and I think the chapter is fantastic! I am only a little bit biased of course! ;) LOLOL

Tremendous Thanks to IrelandSpades (hereafter known as The Red Pen) for her invaluable assistance and unflinching attention to details. She manages to make everything I write better! If you haven't read her stuff, you need to get a Move On! :-D

As always, I don't own squat. But I have a wonderful time on the playground! Please feed the review/comment addicted writer! It IS allowed in THIS zoo! I Promise! HAHAHAHA! Enjoy guys! And Always my sincere thanks for reading! Cynthia


	5. Chapter 5

The impetus to stop John from leaving had died as the words fell from his lips. Sherlock was left staring numbly as his John walked out the door. His expectations for his return home crumbling rapidly as the safety and stability he desperately needed disappeared down the stairs. He couldn't bring himself to move or speak as his world shifted dangerously with every step John took away from him. 'Not real', his mind was already beginning the well-worn chant even as he tried to shake it off and focus on the present. John was the glue that he used to hold his mind together through all of this; the click of the downstairs door closing, now the final blow. Without John to distract him….ground him, memories surged forward crashing through a Mind Palace now devoid of support. 221B faded from his perception, his mind drawn into the torment of the past months even as his body remained unmoving on the sofa, trapped in the world of pain and fear that was his memory.

'Not real'. His mind feebly scrambled for the only defense he had other than John, 'Not. Real.' The mantra slowly weakened until he couldn't tell the difference between reality or memory, possibly hallucinations even.

It was hours later before the still body stirred, but proper awareness did not return at the same time as movement.

"JOHN?!"

He was on his feet in a flash, frantically scanning his surroundings for threats. Something had set off his internal alarms …..but he couldn't identify what at the moment. 'Baker Street?' He recognized his home, he longed for it daily but…..this wasn't right. He was going home….had been going home to John. He remembered that at least. But John wasn't here, he was gone….taken away by….he saw….. 'No, this wasn't right. It couldn't be real…..none of it.' His mind was playing tricks or one of his enemies had gotten to him somehow. 'Must be hallucinating.'

He began to move with care around the flat, unable to keep himself from drawing drapes closed, turning off lights, constantly on the look-out for traps. His foot kicked against a fallen teacup, traces of the cold beverage still visible in the curve of its bowl. 'Tea? I didn't make tea. Must be how they did this then….drugs.' He wasn't sure how someone would have managed it, he had been so careful about beverages since the incident with the Turkish coffee in Istanbul. That had been a very bad trip, put him out of commission for days, allowing his target to escape. He soon remedied that, but still had learned a valuable lesson.

He knew none of what lay before him was real, knew it couldn't be real; however his mind certainly wasn't letting go of the hallucination, making every touch, every sensation startling in its normality even as he struggled to convince himself to reject the effects of the drugs and see his surroundings for what….or where they actually were. He tried to think of his last assignment. Where had he been and where could they have him now to allow for such an elaborate hoax? Who could have managed to do this….which one? He was sure he had gotten rid of everyone with any real power. He was trying desperately to wrestle his mind into functioning properly but having little success.

'I was looking for...John? But John wouldn't be here, he's safe. Safe in London.' They knew how to get to him, it had to be said, and those must have been some really good drugs to induce a detailed hallucination like this. He was clean, he wore his favorite pajamas, and his belly did not have the familiar gnawing ache of hunger. None of it real of course. He was always too smart for them, he knew the threat was still there. He knew it was a lie. If it was real, John would be here with him now, service weapon in hand to cover his back. But he was alone, John was in London. John was safe and he was not. 'Not real.'

He had covered every inch of the ground level of the flat by this time. His subconscious had him systematically locking down the flat even as his conscious denied its reality, both striving for safety if any was to be found. He had no weapons to speak of that he knew but the paring knife from the kitchen felt real enough and sharp enough in his hand, it's weight a small comfort. 'They were coming!' He knew it, they were always coming for him, had come for him for the past sixteen months. He needed a safe place, a safe place to hide, with luck to survive another day….for John...another day to be with John. Something drew him upwards, up the stairs, a sense of safety called to his wounded psyche. Ever aware that it could be a trap, he made his way up the stairs in search of sanctuary.

{*} {*} {*}

John blinked awake slowly, enjoying the warmth of Mycroft's body pressed against his back. He smiled at the familiar morning erection poking into his backside. Rubbing himself against his lover, no...his fiancé, with a hum, he recalled the night before and contemplated a morning repeat.

A throat cleared gruffly behind him, "That will be quite enough of that."

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean love." John smirked as he turned in Mycroft's arms to face the raised eyebrow and knowing look directed at him. He smiled his most disarming smile before kissing Mycroft warmly. "Good morning My."

Mycroft wrapped his arms around his soldier and returned the kiss before squeezing the naked cheek beneath his hand. "You know exactly to what I am referring, John. Just because  _you_  are insatiable, one of us has to be an adult here and consider your health. I am quite afraid your ass needs a break."

John gaped at his lover, "I am insatiable?! Mister "I can never get enough of you" Holmes, I believe  _you_  are full of it!"

Mycroft smirked, "Well, not yet I'm not…..but my prospects are looking up."

John's teasing smile quickly morphed into a heated gaze at the invitation in his lover's voice. He reclaimed Mycroft's lips with a hungry, biting kiss while his hands roamed the eager body beside him. Their shared passion required very little to stoke it; soon enough Mycroft was the one moaning wantonly and begging for more as he was prepared by John's able fingers. For his part, John took great pleasure in knowing that he alone could take the government official apart like this. He spread those long pale legs wide, pressing the thighs towards the flushed chest until Mycroft was presented before him. His gazed raked possessively over the man he intended to marry. He wanted to bury his tongue in the rosy pucker twitching before him, to lap and suck until Mycroft screamed for him. But the simple, needy, whispered plea of "Please John," had him leaning forward to swallow the moans of his lover as he sank into his body in one long push. He rocked against the upturned ass, moving only a little as he enjoyed kissing Mycroft in this position. Soon, however, his body demanded more and he raised up on his hands to pull out almost completely before thrusting home once again. He tried to take his time, to make this last, but taking Mycroft was still relatively new and intensely arousing for them both. Mycroft strangely found the incongruity of John wearing a collar about his throat while fucking the man who put it there extremely arousing. He surprised John with a growl as he grabbed the collar and pulled him forward into a possessive kiss while pressing his heels firmly into the taut ass still fucking him, urging him deeper. Far too soon they were both crying out their release before flopping bonelessly on the bed beside each other.

John sighed in contentment, "Can we just stay right here and ignore the world for today? Surely being newly engaged entitles us to some leeway today, don't you agree?" He gave Mycroft a cheeky wink and smiled hopefully.

Mycroft returned his smile before he sighed wistfully, "I agree that it should, but alas we have but the morning to ourselves, love. How about a nice shower and breakfast together instead?"

John pouted at him beautifully but soon rose from the bed in all his naked glory and offered his hand to Mycroft, "Well if that is the best offer I'm going to get then I'd best get to taking it, yeah?" Mycroft merely chuckled as he took the offered hand and accompanied John to the bathroom. He carefully unbuckled the collar at John's throat, kissing the nape of his neck tenderly as he removed it and laid it aside for their shower. John shivered in delight at the gesture even as he repressed the reason he was still wearing the collar in the first place.

Though they honestly tried to get on with the practical matter of bathing, the silky glide of soapy hands over wet flesh soon had them both fully aroused again. John soon urged Mycroft to lean forward with his hands against the shower wall as he fell to his knees and indulged his earlier desires. He spread Mycroft's smooth cheeks and plunged his tongue into the asshole still coated with his come. He licked and sucked, lapping up his come with delight. He fucked the twitching hole with his tongue, listening to Mycroft's ragged breathing and cries as his own possessive need to claim him yet again grew. Soon he was rising to his feet, rubbing his swollen cock across one buttock as two fingers worked the hole now clenching in anticipation. He reached around to caress the smooth chest with his other hand, pinching the already swollen nipples until Mycroft was moaning loudly. "Tell me you're mine Mycroft. I need to hear it….tell me!"

Mycroft gasped as three fingers thrust into him while his nipples were rubbed harshly again; the roughness igniting a raging need in him as well. "I'm yours John! Oh God! Always yours. There's never been anyone but you for me. Please, I need you. Take what's yours John, take me again."

John could not even begin explain the fierce need he was feeling, the need to stake his claim on Mycroft even though his ring rested snugly on his left hand. He didn't dwell on it as he spread Mycroft and buried his cock deep, reveling in his lover's cry at the sensation. He didn't even try to prolong it this time, fucking as hard as he could manage over and over. He reached around and stroked Mycroft roughly, bringing him to a swift and powerful climax with a choked cry of John's name. John grabbed Mycroft's hips, bent his knees slightly and fucked up into him forcefully a few more times. Mycroft was surprised by his soldier's ferocity but found he enjoyed it when John growled out "Mine," just before biting into his shoulder-blade and spilling hotly deep inside him. The aftershocks echoed through their bodies as John kissed gently over his bite mark and rested his forehead between Mycroft's shoulder blades. "I love you Mycroft. Christ! How I love you!" It came out softly but the intensity was still felt by both men.

John was still buried inside him and Mycroft had no desire to have him move. He reached behind himself and pulled him as close as possible in a backwards hug. John obliged by pressing against his back and reaching his arms forward to curl over his shoulders. "I know. I know you do John. And I love you, more than I ever believed it was possible for me to love." Mycroft, always miles ahead of John in perception, knew where a lot of this 'need' came from and reassured John. "We will be fine John. You know that don't you? No matter what happens with Sherlock, we will be fine." When John's softened cock slipped from him, Mycroft turned and took him into his arms.

Before he could say another word, John stopped him, "Please don't talk about him here."

Mycroft tilted his head quizzically, trying to understand John's request. "We shall have to talk about him John."

"Yes," John nodded, "But not here, not during our….private time, not between us..here. Downstairs, or in the car, anywhere but here in our bedroom...our bathroom, our space. Okay? I….I need it this way. I think I need it this way to get through all of this. Does that make any sense?" He looked searchingly up at his fiance, his love, his Dom, his everything, fully expecting that he would understand his needs as he always has.

Mycroft studied him for the merest moment before agreeing. "It makes perfect sense John. Sherlock's return will demand a lot from us and he will always be a part of our lives. It is perfectly understandable that you and I will need a Sherlock-free zone for ourselves. From this point on, I will honor your wishes."

John smiled happily, "Well then, how about we finish washing up so I can cook breakfast for my fiancé."

Mycroft returned the smile readily, "I would love having My fiancé cooking for me." Then they both chuckled like school boys, unreasonably pleased at being able to call each other that.

Soon enough they were clean and drying off. Mycroft held John's collar up with a question in his eyes. John took it, fingering the leather in quiet contemplation for a few seconds before deciding. He handed the collar back to Mycroft before wrapping his arms around his neck and raising up to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I think I'm feeling much better today."

Fifteen minutes and several kisses later, found them in the kitchen at last, both wearing only their robes and slippers, still indulging in their morning alone. Mycroft prepared the toast while John filled omelets with spinach, mushrooms, and cheese for each of them. Once everything was ready and the coffee poured they sat together enjoying their meal with limited discussion. The butter and jam passed almost before the request was made, the familiarity with each other so comfortable now. Mycroft knew how John could be before having food and his morning cup so he waited until they were both pushing their plates away before proceeding with the necessary conversation. Filling their cups once more he sat back and looked at John. "So, we should probably talk about last night."

John wrapped his fingers around the warm coffee, leaning both elbows on the table as he nodded and gave an unspecified, "Mmm," in reply. He wasn't sure where to begin even, there would be so much to cover, so much to do now. His smooth brow furrowed as he thought about the challenge ahead.

Mycroft sensing his uncertainty and recalling John's distress last night took it upon himself to begin. "I am so sorry he has hurt you John. I can't erase anything you have suffered but you know I will be here to help you in any way possible moving forward."

John met Mycroft's eyes and placed his own hand over the long fingers of his love. "I know you will My….I know. I don't even want to think about everything I am feeling now, I just feel so twisted and raw." At Mycroft's concerned look he quickly added, "I don't mean to avoid it. I know after all we have been through that I have to face all the emotions, hurt, anger….everything I am feeling or suffer for it if I don't. But we have a lot to do and we will be dealing with Sherlock frequently so I am choosing to focus on how happy I am that he is back with us right now. I thought I had lost him forever and now I have him back. For all that we don't know or understand about this, I can only look at this as a good thing Mycroft. And you, you have your brother back. I would say you were even….warm with him last night." Mycroft gave a half-hearted sniff at that but John could see the happiness and affection underneath it all. "I'm not saying it will be easy for any of us. So much has changed in sixteen months, but we will all get through it together."

Mycroft nodded, "It will not be without its challenges, but yes, we will get through. I suspect Sherlock has been through a great deal more than he might have anticipated when he set out on this mission. He looked rather rough and done in last night. Did you gain any insight when you examined him?"

John snorted loudly into his cup as he took another drink of his coffee, "Yeah. I got some insight alright." Seeing Mycroft's wary expression, he told him what happened when he tried to examine Sherlock.

"So...he wouldn't let you touch him at all?" John shook his head and Mycroft continued, somewhat surprised. "But that makes no sense John, he was desperate for your touch….desperate to be with you. I could read it all in his face without having to deduce a thing when you returned from the bathroom." John shifted uncomfortably at that pronouncement but remained silent. "I simply don't understand why he would attack you instead. You, of all people! Should we consider him a threat?"

John shook his head again, "No. He's not a threat. He didn't even mean to attack me and apologized when he realized he had. As hard as it may be for you to apply your understanding of it to your brother, he is suffering from post-traumatic stress. I'm afraid he has seen and done things a man of his temperament, sensitivity, and intellect should never have to. Whatever has been happening these months he's been gone, he has conditioned himself to react instantly to preserve his own life, to fight to survive. I doubt he has willingly been touched by anyone since me, since before….before he was gone." John forced back his own tumultuous thoughts as he continued, "I was trying to act just like before and chivy him along to be examined; I realize now that was the wrong way to approach him. I tried to remove his coat when he drug his feet and said it wasn't necessary. He perceived it as an attack and struck back. I knew enough to stay down until he regained himself and then I think he was embarrassed by his actions." John shrugged, not sure what else to say about it to Mycroft.

Mycroft stared intently at nothing while he considered this new information. Finally meeting John's gaze again he responded, "Yes, challenges indeed. So what did you do after that?" John told him about the rest of the evening including how much better Sherlock looked after a shower and some hot food and tea. He finished with his leaving for the night but glossed over Sherlock's outburst. Ever observant, however, Mycroft narrowed his eyes on John's face and asked, "And how did Sherlock take that? You leaving to come here?" John had hoped to avoid that part but he was as honest with Mycroft as he was with him; complete honesty was the fundamental strength of their relationship. So, with a resigned sigh, he told him about the outburst and what Sherlock said, as well as his reply. Mycroft was never a fool and realized how distressed John must have been at that point. He wondered how long it had been before John actually made his way home. He knew how he tried to walk and think things out when he was upset. He reached over and tenderly brushed the backs of his fingers across John's cheek. "And how did you feel love, leaving him like that?"

John was touched by the gentle concern, grasping the warm hand and pressing it to his cheek before summoning a response. Recalling his emotional state at that moment was just as painful in the light of day as it had been last night. His throat constricted almost to the point of choking and the prickling sensation in his eyes surprised him as he tried to get his words out. "It…I…" he took a deep breath and forced himself to continue, "Christ it broke my heart My! I had to get out of there but it broke my heart like I never thought it could be broken again. I'm so sorry. It shouldn't feel like that, it should be okay but it felt like losing him all over again."

Mycroft only nodded in understanding. He pulled John over until he sat in his lap, leaning against his shoulder with his arms around his neck. He stroked his hand soothingly up and down the strong back as he spoke again, "And why do you think you feel that way John? Why is it so hard?"

John buried his head in Mycroft's neck shaking it slightly, his mumbled reply muffled by the thick robe, "Please don't….please don't ask My. I don't want to do this. Please just let me be happy here with you."

Mycroft already knew the answer and knew they would have to deal with it, better to do it sooner rather than later. John would let it fester unspoken and harmful if they didn't get it out in the open now. So he used his free hand to grip John's chin and pull him up from his neck to face him once more. He observed the moisture already pooling in John's eyes as he gently coaxed, "Tell me why John. You have to say it. You have never said the words but we both know they are there. You need to let it out love."

John searched his face for a moment before closing his eyes with a sigh, he couldn't see the look on Mycroft's face when he said it, he just couldn't. With a deep shuddering breath he spoke the words he never had allowed to see the light of day before. "Because I love him. I loved Sherlock when I thought he was dead and would never know, and I love him still, now that he is back. I love Sherlock and he still can't know." John's eyes cautiously opened as the words were spoken for the first time and finally sank in. Where he expected anger or rejection, he saw only understanding and love in Mycroft's eyes as he nodded solemnly. John had managed to save the dam last night but this was the crashing wave that broke through. "Oh God Mycroft, I love him still!" John buried his head once more, his tears now falling freely onto the strong shoulder that had seen him through so much. "I'm so sorry Mycroft. I'm so ashamed of feeling this way when I love you so much. I can hardly wait to marry you and asking you to deal with this is so unfair. What am I supposed to do? I'm sorry...I'm...just…..so sorry…" He kept mumbling apologies as he cried.

Mycroft simply held him close and rubbed his back, shushing him softly. Most people would expect him to be hurt or upset at this point. But he had always known what John's feelings were and considered himself privileged to have earned those same feelings for his own. He didn't doubt there was room enough in John's big heart for more than one Holmes. However, until John could admit to what his feelings really were they would have difficulty moving forward. So he had pushed and prodded his love to face the truth. He hated seeing John upset, so like the early days of their relationship, but he was here for him as always. They would be all the better and stronger for getting it out into the open now, before either of them had to face Sherlock again.

When John's apologies and tears slowed, Mycroft spoke, "My John, my dearest love, there is nothing for you to keep apologizing for." That prompted John to raise his head and stare, his mouth falling open to argue. Mycroft shook his head, "No John. There is no but, nothing you have to say. I have always known how you felt about Sherlock. I couldn't expect that those feelings simply died when you thought he was gone, even after we had gotten together. Even, after you began to have feelings for me as well. I know too much of your suffering and grief not to expect those feelings to still be there now that he has returned."

Mycroft's words and calmness were actually making John more nervous instead of soothing him. He felt he had to move suddenly and pointedly began clearing the table, not meeting Mycroft's eyes while he continued the conversation. "I don't understand. Why…..why would you make me say it? What are you trying to do? Is there something you are trying to tell me?" So much had happened in such a short period of time and John could not stop the sudden rush of insecurity he felt. "Do you….do you want me to go? It's too much to deal with? To forgive?"

Though they had not dealt with it in some time, Mycroft was well versed in John's bouts of insecurity. He quickly stood, stilling the movements of John's hands with his own and forcing him to look at him again. "No! Lord no John, nothing like that. There is nothing to forgive. And I will never willingly let you go or send you away from me. Never let yourself think that for a moment. I simply know that we can't face what's ahead without you acknowledging what is already there. We can't have that lying between us like some dirty little secret eating away at what we have built together. Am I insecure? Yes, sometimes. Do I let it worry me? No, not really, because I know you John. I know your heart. I simply want us to be honest and open about this, it will be much harder for Sherlock to manipulate either of us if we are. Do you understand?"

John nodded for a moment before shaking his head instead. "Wait. I understand about being honest and upfront about everything, and I agree that's a good thing. But what would it have to do with Sherlock manipulating us? I mean yes, of course he will manipulate us, that's what he does. But what does being aware of my feelings have to do with that?"

Mycroft realized he had not been completely forthcoming with what he deduced and prepared to tell John, despite being very unsure of his response. Stepping back, Mycroft put some space between them before he continued; he felt it best not to crowd John unnecessarily just now. "John, I long suspected my brother of harboring similar feelings for you before his absence and accused him of the same. He either denied this or ignored me." John blinked to hide the small twinge of disappointment caused by hearing of Sherlock's denials, but Mycroft saw it just the same. "I observed Sherlock very closely last night and he was far more transparent than I have ever seen him. If I am not mistaken, during his absence, he seems to have reached a similar realization about his feelings for you and has returned home with the expectation of being able to tell you of this and pursue a new life together."

John couldn't stop the sudden intake of breath when he heard this, nor the sharp pain it brought to his heart. Mycroft pretended not to notice and continued, "The state in which he found us last night has of course severely interfered with his plans and I believe has shaken him greatly, judging from his outburst with you. He has not been home long and he does not really understand nor value our relationship as yet, he can not even begin to imagine how it came to be. I was not lying when I said he was desperate for your touch John….to be with you. He may try many ways to manipulate you into staying with him or I into leaving. Having a very clear understanding between us about the feelings involved will make it easier for us to deal with. Do you see now?"

"Yes," John sighed, "I see. I wish you were wrong but you never are; this is just so very not good My. On one hand I am happy, happy to know my feelings were or are actually returned. But on the other hand that only makes our future far more complicated. How do I even face him knowing that? Knowing how we both felt….feel? What do I do? How do we all get through this without destroying each other?"

"Well you can hide it like the soldier you are or you can approach him honestly. Let him see what needs to be seen and deal with it from there. Whatever you choose I will support you. You know that. I will always be right by your side, whatever may come." Mycroft smiled warmly to soothe his soldier and slowly the smile was returned. He gave John a squeeze around his waist as he placed a quick kiss on his lips. "Well as much fun as this has been love, do you think we are ready to face the day now? I am afraid it will not wait forever."

John chuckled and shook his head. He felt wrung out and exhausted again but Mycroft was right, they had things to do. "Not ready at all My, but I'll follow your lead love." He rose from his perch on Mycroft's lap and waited for him to rise.

Mycroft took John's left hand in his right and placed a kiss over his ring before giving John another much slower kiss. He reassured John once more as they parted, "It will be okay John. I may not know how at the moment, but I promise, we will be fine." John merely smiled and nodded in return as Mycroft led him back upstairs to dress for whatever the day would hold.

{*} {*} {*}

Another half hour saw them dressed and in the car, off to deal with the world at large. John said goodbye to Mycroft at the Diogenes club where a couple of meetings, conference calls and paperwork awaited him. He had kept his schedule relatively light, as promised, for their anniversary. But John did not let him get away before they had arranged for a large bouquet of flowers, a box of gourmet chocolates, and a bottle of the finest champagne to be delivered to Anthea with their sincerest gratitude for all her help in pulling off their joint surprise proposals. Mycroft had no complaints about that particular delay either.

John travelled on to his office to check in. No pressing matters were waiting, so after a few follow-up calls and emails, John packed his bag with supplies and met Clarence downstairs to go check in on the Swedish ambassador's daughter as promised. She was doing much better since starting the medications. The inflammation was already beginning to decrease and the pain was managed well. He signed off on her case with instructions to finish the full course of antibiotics and to follow-up with her doctors at home in two to three weeks to make sure the infection was fully cleared. He knew the family was due to return home at the end of the week and did not anticipate being called back in on the case. He said his goodbyes and made his way out to Clarence.

"Where to now Doctor Watson?"

John breathed in the London air and thought of Sherlock. It was approaching tea time and he knew Sherlock would most likely not eat or drink a thing without some encouragement. He knew he would have to face him again sometime so he steeled his nerves and took another deep breath.

"To Baker Street, Clarence."

{*} {*} {*}

John was a bit surprised to find the flat locked when he arrived. Sherlock had never bothered much with shutting doors, let alone locking them. John pulled out his key and let himself in finding the flat dark and quiet, all of the drapes pulled closed. The darkness and silence were eerie and ominous somehow and put his senses on high alert. He had not brought his gun since he was going to the embassy, but even unarmed he would face anything for Sherlock. He entered carefully, keeping to the walls to let his eyes adjust to the low light and listening for any sounds that could indicate trouble. But there were no sounds at all, the street noise filtering in was the only sign of life he could find. Setting his med bag by the door and taking off his jacket, he hung it up and walked to the nearest bedroom. When he reached Sherlock's room and found the bed exactly as he had left it last night, he began to feel panic. Had he left anyway? Had something happened after he left last night?

"Sherlock?!"

There was no answer. John listened as hard as he could but heard no reply. Just as he was turning to leave the room he heard the slightest sound, a soft shuffle. But it was muffled….almost as if it was...he cut his eyes up to the ceiling, the one place he hadn't checked yet. John moved quickly, taking the stairs as silently as he could and found his bedroom door closed but not locked. Opting for surprise as the best plan of attack, he threw the door wide open but ducked low to avoid any weapons aimed at chest height while he scanned the room.

Nothing…..and no one.

John stood, looking around the room in confusion. He knew he heard a noise up here but maybe it was just a mouse or something. He was about to leave, just reaching to pull the door closed behind him when he gave it one more try.

"Sherlock?"

A soft thump drew John's attention towards the bed, he carefully moved closer, his eyes well-adjusted now. Even had the room been fully lit, John was not sure he would have believed what he found. Sherlock sat on the floor, huddled up in the corner behind John's bed, knees drawn up to his chest and he appeared to be talking to himself. John wasn't sure what he was saying or what was happening but after last night he knew to be cautious with his friend. He made no further move towards Sherlock, his own heart twisting with anxiety as he called his name softly again. "Sherlock? Sherlock, it's John. Can you come out from there for me?"

There was some more mumbling before Sherlock bolted up from his spot and darted across the room away from John. He didn't leave the room but he got as far from John as he could and wouldn't look directly at him either. As John watched, he began to pace the small area he was in, only four or five steps in either direction before he turned and repeated his steps like some caged animal. John could make out some of what he was saying now and struggled to make sense of it in order to help his friend. He could not be certain if this was a flashback or some kind of dissociation, he wouldn't even rule out drugs, but Sherlock clearly wasn't with him in this room right now.

"Tricks! Lies! Don't try that on me! John isn't here, I know John is safe...safe in London. Just trying to get to me, trying to get me to slip up. Oh, ho, Ho Yes! Yes, they would like that, like for me to slip up and make a mistake. They think they would have me then, lock me up again….torture me...see what they can get out of me. It won't help...won't do them any good….I'll still kill them. I'll end them ALL for threatening John. I'll stop every last threat to keep him safe!" The frantic pacing continued and Sherlock gesticulated wildly as he talked.

John knew his mouth must be hanging open from what he was seeing and hearing. Just what had Sherlock been through to cause a break like this? He had limited experience with episodes of this nature and was racking his brain for ways to help Sherlock, to coax him back to reality before they had to call in professional help. Something Sherlock would not appreciate and most likely fight aggressively. A stray ray of light from a break in the curtains fell across Sherlock as he turned, allowing John to see what had been hidden previously by the shadows. The flash of metal and the bright red of fresh blood. When John worked with Sherlock regularly he would have recognized the scent alone when he entered the room, but now he was out of practice and had not noticed it at first; the unique metallic scent of fresh blood. He began to inch forward, intent on disarming his former flatmate who was clearly a danger at present. John could see the bloody blade clutched in Sherlock's hand as he carelessly tapped his index finger against his temple then switched to rubbing the edge of his palm against his forehead, alternating between the two movements restlessly with his pacing and talking. John worried about him losing an eye at this rate, if not something worse.

"Need to think! Have to think of a plan…..have to get out of here...get home…..have to get back to John. I'm not going to die here without telling him…..not going to happen. Think…..Think…...ARGH! FOCUS!"

John gasped as with the last word Sherlock raised his hand and slashed the small blade across his arm. Fresh blood welled up, even as Sherlock sighed deeply with the rush of endorphins. John gripped the edge of the bed tightly, fighting his own flashback. He had little memory of the last attempt he had made to relieve his grief. The episode that set things with he and Mycroft into motion. But he did retain the distinct and vivid impression of the first cut he made on his own arm. He didn't recall each cut after that but could recall his arm streaked with cuts, his own blood flowing out, and the bloody knife still in his hand. He could not afford to be cautious now; the thought of Sherlock ending up in a similar state, his fear of losing him again so soon after he returned, provoked John to action. He stepped directly into Sherlock's path and with his best Captain's voice ordered him to drop the knife.

Sherlock stopped his pacing and actually managed to focus on John directly for a moment. Though he shuddered at the Captain's voice he still denied his existence. "Very good….whoever you are. But you are not real. Can't follow a command from a figment of your imagination. You are not my John, therefore I shall not be listening...to...you." Sherlock turned his back to resume his pacing and, just to prove he could, brought the blade down on his arm once more.

That proved to be one straw too many for Captain Watson. Prepared to defend himself, he stepped behind Sherlock quickly, twisted his fingers into the long curls and yanked hard. Sherlock tried instantly to spin and strike him with the blade but the Captain's hand stopped the slim wrist before it ever made contact. He yanked the beloved curls until he had Sherlock on his knees beneath him, wrist held safely away from their bodies, while the knife was still clutched stubbornly by those bloody fingers. Sherlock's free hand grabbed at John's other wrist, trying to shake the grip on his hair. But Captain Watson did not intend to be refused this time.

"I gave you an order, Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes were wide, staring up at John and he saw the pupils begin to dilate at his voice and command. Interesting. He shook that thought off forcibly to focus only on helping Sherlock.

"I said, drop the knife Sherlock!" He gave another firm pull of the hair in his hand for emphasis.

Sherlock trembled bodily but answered at last, "Yes Sir." The blade tumbled to the rug and John swiftly kicked it away. Sherlock released John's wrist as well and let that arm fall loosely to his side. He sighed, almost in relief, and seemed to go limp against John's thigh.

Still wary of a trick, John slowly lowered himself beside his friend. Still holding firm to the base of his head, he tilted the pale face up to look him over. When there was no resistance, he finally released Sherlock's wrist and noted the arm fell limply to his side as well. He used his free hand to brush the stray curls away so he could see him clearly. He noted fully dilated pupils now, as well as increased pulse and respirations, though those could be attributed to the episode as well. "Sherlock? Sherlock, it's John. I'm really here. Do you understand? I'm here with you now. We're really at Baker Street in London. Tell me if you understand. I am here and I will take care of you. Will that be okay Sherlock? Will you let me help you?"

Sherlock blinked slowly, staring blankly at John for a long moment before realization seemed to reach him. "John? When did you get back?" He glanced around the best he could since John still maintained control of his head. He slowly took in John's room and his bleeding arm. "John, what's happened? Why am I...on the floor in your room?" Another slow blink as his mind tried to regain its normal balance, then, "I...I don't feel very well John. Can I go to bed?"

John gave a small smile, only slightly relieved by Sherlock's acknowledgement. The vulnerability Sherlock could not even attempt to hide sending his caretaking instincts into overdrive. "Yes Sherlock, you can go to bed. I suspect you haven't slept all night. I'm going to help you now. We're going to see about that arm and then I am going to help you sleep. Alright?" Sherlock only nodded slightly before John slowly released his hold on his head. John helped him stand and immediately noticed how unsteady Sherlock was and imagined the disorientation had not fully vanished either. Without another thought, he wrapped a strong arm around the slim waist, offering himself as support while they descended the stairs. Sherlock said nothing, merely accepting the help in silence.

John guided them into the kitchen, having Sherlock sit in a chair at the table. When he looked to John in mute question, John replied with another command, firm but gentle. "Stay here while I get the supplies for your arm. You will be safe, and I will be right back." Sherlock nodded silently and sat perfectly still waiting for John to return. It was a bit unsettling because John had never seen Sherlock act this way. He acted like….like a sub in need of guidance or experiencing sub drop, someone who needed to be taken care of and John could not reconcile that behavior with the Sherlock he knew. Well, he imagined that was no different than Sherlock trying to adjust his view of John after what he saw last night. It remained to be seen how Sherlock's behavior would be affected, over the long-term, by his time away. John grabbed the med kit from the bathroom and returned to the kitchen. Sherlock sat just as he had left him, waiting. John shook his head slightly before instructing the man before him. "Take off your robe so I can clean and dress your arm."

John didn't know what to think when he heard a quiet, "Yes John," before Sherlock removed his robe and placed both arms on the table. There were several cuts across the left forearm and only a couple on the right, thankfully none would require stitches. John cleaned them well, spread antibiotic ointment over them and covered them lightly with gauze. He ran a glass of cold water from the sink and got out two tablets for pain. He made sure Sherlock could see everything he was doing, even showed him the bottle he got the pain meds from.

Sherlock nodded in acceptance, swallowing the pills and downing the water before handing the glass back with another surprise, a quiet, "Thank you John."

John was finding Sherlock's behavior very disconcerting but helped him up and to his own bed after retrieving his med bag from the entrance. He made sure Sherlock went to the bathroom and then tucked him into the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his bag closer to him before speaking, "Sherlock, it is obvious you have not been sleeping and it is not helping you with….whatever else is going on. I want to give you something that will help you sleep if it is okay with you. I will stay here with you and make sure you are safe so you can sleep without worry. I will be here when you wake as well. Is that acceptable?"

Sherlock studied John's face for several minutes, probably deducing John's intentions and motives, and John let him. He allowed his face to remain open and honest and waited patiently for Sherlock. Eventually he nodded, "It is acceptable. You may proceed."

John drew up the sedative as Sherlock watched, selected a vein, swabbed it with alcohol and injected the medication before Sherlock had second thoughts. He sat monitoring Sherlock's pulse as he drifted off, making sure he was well under before he rose to put away his supplies and send a message.

Please call. ASAP.-JW

His mobile rang within minutes. "Hello? Yes, Baker Street. Come as soon as you can. I'm going to need your help. Yeah. Alright. Bye." He ended the call, tucking the phone back into his pocket. He checked on Sherlock once more, then headed for the kitchen.

He needed a stiff drink.

{*} {*} {*}

For a man who never seemed in a hurry, Mycroft could move quite swiftly. Ten minutes after ending the call he arrived at Baker Street. He was greeted by the sight of John sitting alone on the sofa. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and a half full tumbler of whiskey dangled from his hands. As he watched, Mycroft saw John huff out a heavy sigh and raise one hand to scrub through his short hair in obvious concern.

"Something's happened." It wasn't a question, merely a statement of fact that served to get John's attention. John only nodded and raised his glass in a silent toast then gestured toward the waiting bottle and second glass before him. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow but moved to pour his own glass before sitting next to John. He suspected this was not something to be rushed and a quick scan of the flat did not seem to indicate an emergency in progress. Nor did it turn up any sign of Sherlock either. Mycroft took a slow sip of whiskey and waited for John.

John sat back finally and looked at Mycroft. "You know this would be a lot easier if I could just show you. I don't even know where to start to explain."

Mycroft rose to grab the laptop that stayed at the flat for John's work, "It's easy enough to pull up the surveillance footage John, you know that."

John nodded slowly, "Yes, I do. I also know that I disabled the cameras yesterday so my surprise wouldn't be given away."

Mycroft smiled, "And a smart move that was too John. But do you really think I would leave my brother, newly returned from the dead and god only knows what dangers, without any protection upon his return?"

John answered slowly, "No…. but I didn't put the cameras back on before I left."

"But I did, John. While you were in the shower, when I was cleaning and packing up, I was able to restart them without Sherlock noticing. He would merely have turned them off if he did, though I still don't think he was quite himself last night."

"No," John agreed, "nor today either." When Mycroft looked at him quizzically John replied, "Go ahead then, watch the footage, specifically...my room upstairs, for the past hour…..with audio. Earlier in the night I can't speak about as yet, but I think that span of time will suffice. Go on," he urged, "I'll be here waiting. You will have questions I am sure. At the very least we need to have another conversation."

Mycroft was truly alarmed now but managed to keep his face passive as he returned to the couch and began pulling up the video John specified. 'What could have happened to have John on edge so?' The text John had sent him was a coded one they used when immediate contact was necessary. It let Mycroft know to abort whatever he was doing if possible and see about John or what he may need that would prompt the use of the code. He knew John had not summoned him lightly but was at a complete loss about what was going on. 'And just where was Sherlock?'

John didn't say another word. He just sat and drank his whiskey, then poured another one. A glance at his watch had him up a moment later. "I'm just going to.." Mycroft took his gesture down the hall to indicate the bathroom and only nodded as he prepared to start the video. "Right. Back in a minute then, My," with that, John disappeared down the hall.

Mycroft started the video and audio, momentarily puzzled as to why he was looking at an empty room. He saw John's entry into the room, still unsure of why John had been on the alert. It wasn't until John moved closer to the bed and began speaking that he got an idea about the problem. He was already zooming in the image when Sherlock bolted from behind the bed. He watched and listened, seeing his brilliant brother completely at odds with his reality. He saw the blade and the blood, even realized what John was coping with in that moment. He saw John's actions and Sherlock's atypical response to the same. He stopped the video, zoomed in on the image of Sherlock's face and replayed his response frame by frame. 'Hm….that is certainly different. Something to address later no doubt."

When John began to help Sherlock out of the room, Mycroft shifted to the other camera feeds to capture the rest of what had transpired. He had just finished with the whole episode when he noticed John returning from, as he now knew, checking on Sherlock and not just a trip to the bathroom.

"He's still sleeping then?"

John nodded with a sigh, sitting down and picking up his glass. "Yes, the sedative and pain medication on top of his obvious exhaustion should have him out for a while, possibly until morning." John watched Mycroft run his hands absently over the now closed laptop. "You saw everything then?"

Mycroft nodded solemnly, "I can hardly believe that was Sherlock. It was frankly terrifying to see him like that. And I am assuming you ruled out drugs since you have him sedated."

"Yes, I am still keeping a check on his vitals, his reflexes and responses. Every indication up to now points to more of a dissociative break as opposed to a flashback, though both can occur with post traumatic stress. This was not strung out on drugs behavior nor were his physical responses typical of drug use. My question now is what do we do Mycroft? Because honestly, he terrified me too. I was so afraid I couldn't help him, couldn't get him back from wherever he was right then. He's going to wake up eventually and he may or may not remember any of this but the underlying causes are still going to be there and we need to have a plan in place for how to help him. I am not a psych doctor you know."

Mycroft already had his fingers steepled under his chin, "No, I know you're not. But you are apparently the only person Sherlock trusts and feels completely safe with. You know given his history with hospitals and rehab facilities that he will fight us most vigorously if we suggest anything like that. He is also likely to eviscerate any therapist we manage to get him to talk to. It would appear, John, that it will be up to us to help my dear brother, albeit with a great deal of help and second-hand support. I could suggest moving him to the townhouse to keep a watch on him but that could make things worse. I shall have to go back and view the entire night's footage but do you have an opinion as to what may have triggered this particular event?"

John gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment and took a sip of whiskey before answering. "You said this whole situation was going to be challenging but I think it is going to be far worse than either of us have imagined thus far," John began. "I think you were onto the answer this morning. The first problem is that we have no idea what all has happened to Sherlock, but it is apparent that he has had a very traumatic time away from us and he had to get through it all alone. I mean in the army you have your brothers-in-arms to help you, to watch your back. Sherlock had no one, that can only have made the trauma much worse. He had no one to trust."

John rubbed one hand over his face as he marshalled his thoughts and continued. "Second, you said Sherlock's intentions seemed to be to return and pursue a life with me; to pursue a romantic relationship. However, he returned to find things vastly different than when he left and as you pointed out, finding us together has unsettled his plans and shaken him. Third, you just said he trusts only me, only feels safe with me. I think maybe he came home seeking security at last and we effectively pulled the rug out from under him. I think me leaving him here alone to come home to you may have triggered this episode. As if I needed even more to feel guilty over! I have to admit to you that I still love your brother, and my loving you and returning to you drove your brother into a psychotic break with reality. Run now while you can Mycroft! I am apparently toxic to any man who wants a relationship with me!" John had become increasingly upset and frustrated as he worked his way through these thoughts and now downed his whiskey in one long drink before reaching for the bottle.

He was stopped by Mycroft's hand over his. "This won't help John. Besides, I don't think it would be very responsible of me to let my brother's doctor get drunk while he is on duty." Mycroft gave a small smile at the expression on John's face before he continued. "I think, that you are most likely correct on all of those points John. Not the guilt nor the toxic remark however. I don't suppose I can stop you feeling guilty but you are not toxic. You are a caring and kind-hearted man who would do anything to help those he loves. We will find a way to help Sherlock, despite my concerns this morning, I know my brother well enough to know this is real and not some elaborate manipulation. But for the time being, all we can do is wait for him. When he is awake, we will all sit down and have a long talk about things. We will figure out what will help and what will work for all of us. We simply have to be patient. We can look over the entire video from last night and see if anything else will give us some insight but otherwise, all we can do is wait. And there is simply no point in tearing yourself apart in the meantime. You are the man I love John, and I will not allow it."

John smiled weakly and leaned over to gently kiss Mycroft. Remaining close, he bumped his forehead against Mycroft's and sighed. "How did I ever get so lucky?"

Mycroft chuckled, "I'm the lucky one, John."

They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the peace of each other's presence before John pulled away and stood. "I said I would be there when he woke up. I don't want to think of his reaction if he wakes up alone."

"Definitely not, John. Since we'll be here for the next few hours I'll place an order for some food. Indian?"

John thought for a moment before replying, "Order from Angelos. The familiar might help to keep Sherlock with us, assure him he's at home and with friends. And we might be here longer than a few hours, you might want to have a few things sent over for the night."

Mycroft smiled at John's forethought before he nodded, "Of course, John."

John smiled brightly at him before bending quickly and kissing Mycroft. "Love you."

"Love you too," Mycroft replied and watched John walking down the hallway to the bedroom that held his brother.

Mycroft reached for his mobile and quickly found the number for Angelos. Waiting for someone to answer, Mycroft released a huff of breath and spoke to the empty room, "We'll manage this. Whatever this is. We'll manage.

"We simply must."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thanks as always to my Tremendous beta, **Irelan** **d** **Spades**  for all her help and encouragement, even providing an ending in a pinch when I have a brain fart moment! :-D She makes sure to keep me on track so all of you Lovely people following this story get your updates in a relatively reasonable time! Show your appreciation and go read her stuff too! ;) Thanks to everyone reading, commenting, following, bookmarking and leaving kudos for this story! I appreciate you ALL so very much! Still MORE comments for the author will not go amiss (she has a bit of a problem you know!)! HAHAHAHAHA! Hope you all enjoy! Cynthia


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning found Sherlock still asleep and John dozing in his chair at the bedside.  Mycroft had insisted on moving it so John would be more comfortable after he had refused to even take a nap on the couch as the night wore on without any sign of Sherlock waking.  Mycroft stood in the doorway gazing fondly at his lover, head propped against his union jack pillow and mouth slack with sleep, even like this he was beautiful to behold.  He hated to wake him but they did have to face the day at some point.  He set the fresh cup of tea he had brought down on the nightstand before moving over to John.  Fingers brushed softly through the short hair as he called John’s name quietly as even Mycroft was hesitant to risk waking Sherlock prematurely.

 

John hummed softly, pushing into Mycroft’s hand before his eyes blinked open and he stretched his stiff muscles.

 

“I’ve brought you some tea love,”  Mycroft whispered as he held out the still steaming cup.

 

John smiled brightly as he wrapped his fingers around the mug,  “Oh, thank you My.  You are a life saver.”

 

Mycroft couldn’t resist a brief kiss for those words, “Well yours is a life well worth saving.”  He returned the bright smile as well, “Good morning, love.  Did you rest a bit?”

 

“A bit, yeah.  How about you?”

 

Mycroft smirked, “Surprisingly I did.  While it is not our bed at home, I found the sofa not without comfort.  I can see why Sherlock likes to lounge there so much.”

 

John rolled his eyes a bit in response, “I told you you could go upstairs and use my bed to sleep.”

 

Mycroft brushed his knuckles across John’s cheek, “But I wanted to be close at hand should you have needed my assistance.  Neither of us really knows what we will be dealing with when he finally wakes.  I didn’t want you to be alone if there were any further problems.”

 

John reached up and clasped Mycroft’s hand with his own, “I know My, I know.”

 

They had been speaking quietly, almost in whispers but the restless scratch of limbs twitching anew drew their attention to the man in the bed.  Eyes still closed, Sherlock’s hands soon gripped tightly in the covers while his head began to toss back and forth on the pillow.  Various sounds and mumbled speech tumbled out at times but seldom anything they could make sense of at that moment.

 

“Nightmare again?”  Mycroft questioned, watching his brother with concern.

 

John gave an indefinite ‘Mm’ as he took a long sip of his tea.  “At least the fourth one I’ve seen,” he finally replied, “He probably would have been awake long ago if not for the sedative in his system.”  John couldn’t stop the worried frown on his face as he watched his friend struggle through the same kind of dreams that haunted him, both after Afghanistan and after Sherlock’s supposed death.

 

Mycroft knew without asking where John’s thoughts were, he rubbed his hand along one strong shoulder as he spoke again.  “Well I was going to see about some breakfast, unless you think I should wait a bit longer.”

 

John shook his head slightly, “No, you go ahead.  It’s still tough to say when he’ll wake but maybe the smell of food will stir him, yeah.”  Mycroft merely smiled and nodded once before returning to the kitchen.  He was no chef but he could manage a simple breakfast.  John returned to sipping his tea and watching Sherlock.

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

_Running….running, he couldn’t even see where he was going in the gauzy grey fog surrounding him.  He had no sense of his pursuers but knew they were there just the same, always there, always after him.  He paused in confusion when the voice reached him, “Sherlock, it’s this way.  Come on!”_

_“John?”_

_The relief of hearing the well loved voice clouded his mind and his confusion cost valuable seconds as the voice moved further away in the gloom.  John can’t be here, he’s supposed to be safe, protected, I left him at home to be sure of it.  Christ I want him here, but he can’t be, not now.  He finally realized he was losing John’s voice, a faint echo coming back to pull him forward once more._

_“Come on Sherlock!  It’s right here.  We’ll be safe, trust me.”_

_“John?!” He could not explain the foreboding sense of danger he suddenly felt but had learned to trust those instincts.  He had to stop John, bring him back.  He called into the darkness, his voice dissipating into the mist without reaching its goal.  “John!  Not that way John!  Come back!!”  He ran even faster, searching for John.  Nothing else even mattered now, only John.  He had lost all sign of his friend, not even a whisper of his voice remained.  Screaming into the night he gave his frustrations voice as he called out._

_“JOHN?!”_

_As if on cue, the loud crack of a gunshot rang out and Sherlock thought his heart might have stopped.  Panic and adrenaline spurred him forward, anxiously yelling for John even as he turned in circles searching.  Light from an unknown source blinded him suddenly until his eyes finally adjusted and he saw the scene illuminated before him.  John lay in an ever growing pool of blood beneath the shower of light.  Standing over him Sherlock saw himself, bloody, beaten and bruised; no light within his eyes, no mercy to be found, only darkness and death….the man he had become without John.  Smoke twisted and curled haphazardly from the black gun still held tightly in the hand of his alter ego as he stared down at his kill.  With a dark smirk the image raised the gun and leveled it on him. “Should I put you out of your misery too?  No life for you now….no….Heart.  You should have known I would be the death of him.  Just not as clever as you thought you were are you?” Without another word his spectre put the gun to his own bruised temple and pulled the trigger.  Sherlock blinked as the other fell in slow motion only to crumble like dried mud when he struck the ground.  Another blink and the ghost and his remains were gone, disappeared into the surrounding murk like a bad trip, leaving John’s solitary body behind.  Sherlock’s anguished cry fell silent, all sound muffled by the mantle of his unspoken grief.  Nothing reached him in the red haze of a world focused narrowly on John’s body.  He fell slowly to his knees beside John, not even caring as blood soaked into the knees of his trousers.  He numbly grasped a wrist, feeling feebly for a pulse.  But there was none to find, John no longer breathed, his heart no longer beat, nothing mattered now…..there was no point, it had all been for nothing.  He could not move from John’s side, it would only be a matter of time now.  The world could die and eternity fade until only he and John were left in a watery pool of light in the darkness and he still would be unable to move.  Sherlock watched as rain began to fall, splashing into John’s blood, causing splatters of red to jump and dance in a garish display.  It was then that a new voice came, the voice he had long ago grown to despise above all others._

_“Well, well Sherlock, it seems your grand plans came to naught.”  Moriarty’s voice echoed in the darkness and Sherlock didn’t bother looking for him, knowing he’d never find him.  “You should have known it would never work.  You simply can’t go against me and win.  And now look…..Johnny boy is gone.  Your cozy little world destroyed.”_

_Sherlock snarled at the invisible voice, “Shut Up!”  His only reply, mocking laughter._

_“You thought you could keep him safe but he’s gone anyway.  You should have listened when I said I would burn your heart.  Nothing to go home to now is there, no John, really no reason for you to go on.  You’ve had your fun Sherlock but I really can’t let you continue any longer.”_

_Sherlock looked up as the slim figure of Moriarty appeared from the darkness.  He stared mutely as the arm slowly raised and a gun aimed for him.  No point in fighting anymore….not without John._

_Another shot rang out……_

{*} {*} {*}

 

It was approaching tea time and Sherlock still slept, though he had become much more restless.  The sedative was gradually wearing off.  Mycroft was working from home with his laptop in the sitting room and John was trying to read sporadically as he watched over Sherlock.  He had just managed to turn his attention to the chapter he was on when Sherlock’s movements became frantic.  John did not move to hinder him, doubting it would be safe to do so.  He merely set the book aside and waited.  This time he could make out Sherlock’s words as his dream seeped into his waking world.

 

“No….John...”  Sherlock’s head thrashed from side to side, dark curls sticking to his sweaty brow as he pushed and fought against the mattress and covers as if they were some invisible barrier or unseen foe.  “My fault...my fault….got it wrong….”  The pained whisper of the next words caused a sharp ache in John’s chest, “Please…..I can’t….can’t….without John…..”  The words tapered off and John thought perhaps the dream was over, until an agonised scream ripped from Sherlock’s throat. 

 

“Don’t!!  JOHN!!”

 

With a sudden jerk, Sherlock sat up abruptly in bed, gasping deeply for breath as he clutched the covers in his fists.  John sat quietly in his chair, not daring to draw attention to himself until Sherlock was fully awake.  Glimpsing Mycroft approaching, he gave a subtle shake of his head and small wave of his fingers urging him to back off.  No doubt he was summoned by the scream but Sherlock would not react well to his sudden appearance in his current state.  With a nod of understanding, Mycroft returned to the sitting room.

 

Sherlock’s breathing seemed to be under control by the time he got around to rubbing his eyes, blinking against the filtered light from the windows, despite the mostly closed drapes.  Once his eyes had adjusted, looking around did nothing to help the sense of confusion he was experiencing.  He saw John sitting there looking at him with concern and...something else.  There was always something else with John.  But he didn’t understand why John was sitting here in his room.  He remembered making it back to Baker street and the flat, John and Mycroft being here.  He rubbed ruefully at the back of his neck, he really didn’t want to think about that.  He didn’t want to think about later when John left him alone.  For all that he could remember, there seemed to be a gap in the rest of the evening.  When did he get to bed?  When did John come back and why?  It was obviously the next day but he couldn’t even remember the night.  With nothing to be gained from speculation at this point and his deductions not up to par, he finally spoke.

 

“You came back.”

 

John cocked his head to the side, answering cautiously,  “I came back yesterday for tea.  You weren’t exactly yourself.”

 

Sherlock blinked slowly as he processed those statements.  John came back yesterday, not last night...not the night of his return.  Somehow, he had lost a whole day and a half.  He looked down at himself.  He was still wearing the same pajamas John had laid out for him but he did notice new bandages on both of his forearms.  He held his arms up in question and John again answered simply.

 

“You cut yourself.  I bandaged them before you went to bed.”

 

Sherlock thought for a moment.  “And you have been here…” he eyed John’s customary chair now sitting by the bed, “watching me, since then?”

 

John interlaced his fingers over his abdomen and nodded, “Mycroft and I have both been here.” 

 

Sherlock could not quite stop the curl of his upper lip and John raised one eyebrow at him.  When he could not stand the quiet stare any longer he spoke, “I can’t remember.”

 

John  loosened his hands and leaned forward in the chair, “No.  I imagine not.  I think we are all going to have to have a long talk.”  Sherlock looked away, refusing to comment.  “Still, it is time for tea and I don’t think any of us want to tackle this on an empty stomach.  Do you feel up to joining us?  I mean we still have to prepare everything so if you want to get a shower and freshen up first, you can.”  Sherlock only nodded silently so John stood and started to leave.  “Is there anything you need before I see about the tea?”  Sherlock glanced around briefly before shaking his head.  “Alright, I’ll see you in a few, yeah.  Don’t make me come after you now.  You haven’t eaten in nearly two days.”  Sherlock tried hard to resist smiling at the familiar chastisement but one side of his mouth still curved upwards.

 

“I’ll be there John.”

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

The shower had at least helped to rouse him fully and a flash or two of memory managed to pry themselves loose from the rubble of his Mind Palace.  When he removed the bandages and looked at the fresh cuts he had flashes of cutting himself, and his arms on the table as John dressed them.  He had seldom cut before and didn’t know why he had done it now.  A few times when he was desperate for a hit was really the extent of it in the past, but this last month or so, the pressure was so intense and his mind so weary and ready to be done, he had resorted to the simple means of trying to focus.  Sometimes it helped, sometimes it did nothing but make him bleed.  He hadn’t tried to force his thoughts, simply showered and dressed in a clean set of pajamas before trying to brace himself to face John and Mycroft once more.

 

They insisted on tea at the kitchen table primarily because John thought he could get Sherlock to eat more this way.  Sherlock wondered if he was the only one trying to eat without thinking of last ni….no, not last night, the night before.  Anyway, Sherlock couldn’t say the memories were helping his appetite any and he absolutely refused to consider what those memories of John were doing to his previously dormant libido.  He ate all he could stand sitting at the table with them, then snatched several biscuits and a fresh cup of tea before excusing himself to the sofa where he stretched out once more.

 

Mycroft gave John a meaningful glance but he only shrugged silently in return.  They quickly cleaned up, taking their tea as well as they each took a chair and got comfortable.  Silence settled over the sitting room and lingered as no one seemed to know how to begin.  Sherlock himself finally could stand no more and spoke.

 

“The two of you are driving me mad with your pointed looks across the room and the cacophony of your combined thoughts.  So dare I ask what happened or am I in such a delicate condition that I can’t handle the truth?!”

 

Mycroft nodded for John to start and that settled it for him.  “From what I observed Sherlock, you are suffering from post-traumatic stress from your….travels.”

 

Sherlock snorted violently, his arrogant voice covering his fear at John’s words.  He had no doubt that John was right and he did not want to deal with that, but apparently he was not to be given that choice.  So he fought back with all the coldness he could muster.  “Well you would know all about that wouldn’t you John?  Practically an expert if you can make a diagnosis in one day!”

 

“Sherlock!”  Mycroft’s voice was sharp in warning causing Sherlock to roll his eyes dramatically.

 

John stilled Mycroft with a gesture of his hand.  It may have been sixteen months but he was still well versed in Sherlock’s avoidance maneuvers.  “Yes, actually I do Sherlock.  I am as intimately familiar with its effects as I am with you, and the man I found when I walked in here yesterday was not the Sherlock I know at all.  For Christ’s sake, you were having a full-blown dissociative episode!  It wasn’t that difficult to determine when I found you hiding behind my bed, talking out of your head, slashing your arm with a kitchen knife, and thought I was a hallucination.  That coupled with your significant lapse in memory makes an actual diagnosis a secondary concern.”  John paused a moment to let that sink in before continuing, “The question we have for you now, is what do we do about it? How can we help you and will you let us?”

 

Sherlock’s mind was racing, desperate to refute John’s statement but, having no memory to rely on, he couldn’t actually do that.  He quickly examined the shambles of his Mind Palace and knew that John was most likely telling the truth.  But how could he explain?  How could he tell them that what he needed to help him was John himself?  The trauma of his actual experiences would take time to process, compartmentalize, and heal but it was John’s presence he needed to keep him firmly centered in the here and now.  There was no way for him to explain that without both John and Mycroft seeing it as manipulation.  As much as he might want John separated from Mycroft, he had little understanding of the situation as yet to risk tampering.  After what was in truth only seconds he had decided he would simply have to present them with what they wanted to see, put up a good front as it were.  He had done it most of his life, faked it when he needed to.  Now he had to do it and make it work until he had a better plan. 

 

With a blink he refocused on the present, “I’m certain it can not be as bad as you make it out to be John.  The last few weeks of my mission have been most trying and I have slept little.  The fatigue simply must have caused some paranoia and confused behaviors.  I feel exceedingly fine since I have had a good rest.  You can rest assured that I will be fine and there will not be a repeat of this episode so you needn’t worry.”

 

Mycroft face was a stoic mask as he assessed his brother and John looked particularly sceptical.  Sherlock reached for another biscuit and sipped his tea, forcing himself to relax.

 

“You realize I can provide complete video coverage of the entire event, Sherlock.  I think you might judge it differently if you saw for yourself the state you were in.  It was, frankly, quite disturbing and I find it hard to believe that mere fatigue would have caused what John and I saw.”  Mycroft kept his face placid but Sherlock could detect the chastisement just the same.

 

“Yes, I am certain it will be very enlightening to see the footage, purely from a scientific standpoint of course.  I can add the data to my studies of the effects of sleep deprivation on the psyche.  Thank you so much for thinking of it, brother dear.”  Sherlock kept his demeanor cool and unflappable, he had to make this work.

 

Mycroft raised a cynical eyebrow but it was John who spoke next, “And the nightmares I’ve observed all night, are they the product of sleep deprivation as well?”

 

Sherlock sighed briefly, not wanting to think of his nightmare again.  When he answered it was with a slightly softer tone but he would not look at John.  “John, you of all people can imagine the work I have done simply from the reports Mycroft has, and you know that those kinds of activities stay with you.  I have no control over my dreams but I suspect I may have nightmares for some time to come after all I have done.  That does not mean I need therapy or whatever the two of you are considering.  I suppose it confirms what you’ve always believed, that I am indeed human.”

 

They sat in silence again as each man considered what to do next.  John finally sighed and began again, “Would you at least give me the peace of mind of checking over your injuries?  I won’t ask and you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want, but as your friend and as your doctor would you let me examine you?”  Sherlock ground his teeth, still resistant to the idea.  But the heartfelt plea of John’s next words decided for him.  “Please Sherlock, for me.”

 

“Alright John…..for you.”

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

John walked into his room upstairs, closing the door firmly behind him.  He had made the excuse that he needed a nap after staying up watching over Sherlock.  He did need a rest but truthfully he just had to get away.  He crossed to the bed and sat, rubbing both hands over his face with a distinct hum as if he could purge the images from his mind with just that simple gesture.  It had taken all of his training as a doctor and as a soldier to examine Sherlock objectively, without reacting to what he saw.

 

The soft click of the door opening brought him up out of his hands to meet Mycroft’s concerned face.  The door closed just as quietly behind him before he crossed to John and knelt in front of him.  He took John’s wrists in his hands, as he had so often to provide grounding and support.   John looked at him wearily with reddened eyes and relief as he let himself relax into the safety of Mycroft’s presence.

 

“Why did he do it, My?  How could he put himself through that?  I don’t understand….I just can’t understand.”  The emotions John had bottled up while he looked over Sherlock at last spilling out.  “His beautiful skin….so much pain and suffering…...why?  Why did he have to go alone?  Why couldn’t we help? I could have protected him if I was there My!”  Tears had begun to fall unchecked as John dealt with what he saw.  “Christ My, I’m just so bloody furious!  I just want to hit something, to make someone hurt like they hurt him.”

 

Mycroft soothed him gently, “I know John, believe me I understand the sentiment myself.”  Like John, Mycroft had been horrified by the various injuries his brother had sustained, small and large, old and new.  Despite the dark glare Sherlock gave him, he had insisted on taking pictures of every single injury. ‘Evidence’ he stated blandly.  There wasn’t even a case to speak of at the moment.  However, should Sherlock share details in the future or should he run across any survivors who had some part in the damage inflicted upon his little brother, well then Mycroft would have no difficulty returning the favor in a more permanent manner.  Much the same way as he had done with the sniper responsible for John’s injury in Afghanistan.  For all his mild mannered appearance, no one hurt those that he loved and got away with it.

 

John was relieved that Sherlock had at least done a reasonable job of caring for himself and didn’t require more in depth medical intervention.  But Mycroft had been able to see the struggle he was having and knew they would end up here.  He reached out and slipped John’s shoes off his feet, then stood, slipping off his own shoes as well.  He pushed John to lie back on the bed and quickly joined him pulling his soldier securely into his arms, with his head resting on his chest.  Rubbing John’s back in long soothing strokes, he sought to answer the questions John had.  “I don’t know why he did it John.  I don’t know if he will ever share that information with us.  But I am certain, whatever his reasons, that he was absolutely convinced that it was the only way he could go about what he had to do.  Perhaps he thought only of dealing with Moriarty and did not anticipate what it would entail.  All we can do now is help him the best we can and hope that it is enough.”

 

John’s tears still trickled out but had slowed under Mycroft’s reassuring touch.  “I just wish I could have helped, been there you know, made it better.”

 

“I know John.  It was his choice to go alone and you can not change that now.  We can only move forward.”

 

“You don’t believe that whole bit about fatigue do you?”

 

Mycroft sniffed slightly, “Not in the least.  I saw exactly what you did when I looked at the footage.  My brother seems determined to deny any problem and appear as normal as possible.  I don’t know what else we can do at the moment beyond watch him closely.  Forcing the issue of therapy will only make him worse.”

 

John nodded quietly against Mycroft’s chest, “I know you’re right.  I’m just so worried about him.  How do we keep a close enough eye on him?  We can’t stay here all the time and tend to our everyday lives as well.  Plus you have to work out how to bring him back from the dead, legally and all.”  John stifled a rather large yawn as he spoke.

 

“We will work it out John.  We may be figuring it out as we go but we’ll get there.  I promise.  Now sleep, you really do need some rest.  I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep alright?”

 

John chuckled softly, his breathing already slowing as his quiet reply came, “Sure My….love you.”

 

“And I love you John.”  Mycroft lay there absently rubbing his hand over John’s back long after he was asleep, considering the issues they faced and what to do about them.

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

When Mycroft returned to the sitting room, he found Sherlock once more sprawled out on the sofa staring absently into space, or so it seemed.  Mycroft had seen enough already to know to approach carefully.  “Would you like any more tea Sherlock?  We still have an hour or so before dinner.”

 

There was silence in reply but Sherlock did turn his gaze to study Mycroft.  Mycroft merely shrugged and went into the kitchen to make himself a fresh cup, taking his laptop with him.  He had in fact been working on the legal paperwork required for Sherlock’s ‘resurrection’ in between seeing to his normal duties.  So with tea in hand he sat at the kitchen table and resumed his work leaving Sherlock to his own devices for the time being, the flat quiet except for the clicking of keys on the keyboard.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

His brother’s distinctive voice roused him from his work some time later and he glanced up to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen.  “I am here because I am needed.”

 

Sherlock snorted at that.  He noticed Mycroft failed to specify by whom he was needed and he would be loathe to ever admit that he might need his brother himself.  He considered for a moment before narrowing his eyes on his brother once more.  “What did you do to John?”  At Mycroft’s startled expression he continued, “What did you do to change John so much from the man I knew before I went away?  For him to be...” Sherlock waved his hand up and down in Mycroft’s direction, “...with you, like that. I never knew you would deign to interact in such a….personal...way with another person.  And John certainly proclaimed his own position often enough before.”  He couldn’t bring himself to be any more specific about the relationship his brother obviously shared with John now.

 

Mycroft was unsure how to answer for a moment, certain that John would not want the actual details shared with Sherlock.  “I didn’t do anything to him, Sherlock.  I was merely there when John needed help.  That is all really, the rest is simply John.”

 

“Help?  Why?  With what…..what happened for John to need help?  Least of all from you?”

 

Mycroft sighed deeply, regretting the words he knew he had to say just to offer the minimum reply to that question.  “You left him Sherlock.  That is what happened.”

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to issue a retort only to snap it shut again, instead glaring at Mycroft before turning sharply and disappearing into his bedroom.  Mycroft shook his head slightly and returned to his work.

 

Sherlock for his part was stewing in his room, pacing the floor restlessly. He was incensed that Mycroft would dare to imply that somehow he was responsible for the change in John but he couldn’t afford to fight with him about it.   He knew he was going to have to try harder to keep things together for the time being.  It just wouldn’t do to cause even more concern for John or Mycroft at the moment.  It would be a struggle without John here for him right now but he could do it, he had been doing it for months now.  He simply had to force his mind to comply as he had so often before.  He would focus his attention on the problem of John, it would be his ‘new’ mission; a good puzzle always helped and John had certainly become more of a puzzle than he ever was before.  It would take some time, but figuring out what he had missed, what was going on with John, that would keep him busy enough to not get into any further trouble….he hoped.  The thought of what John described was simply too unsettling to bear.  He thought of the fresh cuts, now carefully bandaged on his arms, and he knew he would have to be more careful. 

 

Decision made, he turned his thoughts to the problem posed by his new ‘assignment’.  ‘So he left John?  It was for his own safety….to keep him alive.  Sure he knew John was upset, he had heard him at the cemetery after all, but how could that have led to a relationship with Mycroft?  Was it possible that he had somehow driven John to his brother?’  He tugged furiously at his hair while he tried to think.  The voice in his head conveniently forgetting that John had no idea that he had left for his safety or to save his life.  No, such a rational thought did not occur to Sherlock in his pacing.  There was obviously more to this that he was missing, some other piece to the puzzle.  It would be harder separating John and Mycroft without knowing the basis for the relationship but he had all the time in the world now.  He had no shame concerning his plans, Mycroft did not need or deserve John the way he did.  He would find out the truth and then he would get his John back where he was supposed to be.

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

The next couple of weeks passed in a tense sort of limbo for all three men.  John or Mycroft individually, or just as often both together, made sure they visited with Sherlock everyday.  However, with much trepidation, they left Sherlock alone at night, returning instead to their own home.  It was incredibly hard for John who felt like he was deserting his friend when he needed him yet again.  He spent many restless nights waking and checking the video surveillance on Sherlock for any signs of trouble.  While he often found him awake and pacing the flat, occasionally sleeping, or sometimes staring absently as if in his Mind Palace, there were no signs of any true breaks from his current reality.  He did notice the nightmares still occurred and thought it odd that he hadn’t seen Sherlock play his violin any since his return, but otherwise things were normal enough.  After a week of sleepless nights, John finally relaxed into a tentative complacency over the possible complications of Sherlock having PTSD.  That didn’t mean he stopped watching...or worrying.

 

Sherlock of course quickly resumed his usual antics, disabling the cameras around the flat.  He didn’t bother trying to remove them, seeing no point in wasting his energies when he knew Mycroft would only have them replaced.  Fortunately both John and Mycroft were also accustomed to such behavior and prepared accordingly.  Mycroft had had a secondary relay system installed that allowed them to remote access the cameras and simply turn them back on.  Sherlock had failed to catch on to that particular bit of information thus far.  Though it wasn’t surprising, since he spent the better part of his time awake keeping up his appearance of normality and trying to deduce the mysteries of John and the changes in his life. 

 

It had proven to be more of an undertaking than he imagined at first and John was proving to be exceptionally uncooperative.  Sherlock had tried the direct approach asking questions and goading in a way that normally would guarantee a response from John.  He had been surprised and disappointed with what he received instead.  From ‘You should talk to Mycroft about that’ to ‘That’s personal and none of your business’, along with the frequent ‘I don’t want to talk about that, Sherlock’, he also got total and absolute silence.  If he pushed John for more he did not get angry, which Sherlock expected based on all of his prior experience.  No, the more he pushed the more John retreated, he would simply go silent, shutting himself off fully from Sherlock who couldn’t stand that closed off expression and unresponsiveness.  It was yet another change in John he could not understand.  He already knew Mycroft would be a limited resource and if he could not get anywhere with John then how was he supposed to solve the puzzle.  While his frustration mounted, he knew he would simply have to bide his time until an alternate means presented itself.

 

Mycroft, for his part, was almost at his breaking point with Sherlock over the situation with John.  Sherlock had done nothing untoward but he knew there were still ulterior motives to his current actions.  But even more than that, what Mycroft could not tolerate, what was eating him alive with fury, was the effect Sherlock’s probing questions were having on John.  Mycroft would never divulge John’s secrets to slake his brother’s thirst for knowledge which left his hands tied as to a means of stopping what Sherlock was doing.  Sherlock couldn’t know that the constant questioning was dredging up John’s most painful memories from that time; the fall, his grief and depression, all of it was churned up anew every time Sherlock started to pry.  The old hurt and pain was also overlayed with his hurt and anger at the betrayal of Sherlock faking his death and forcing him to watch, of being left in the dark to grieve and mourn for no reason.  John would never let Sherlock see any of this but Mycroft saw all of it and more.

 

Sherlock would never know that the turmoil in John’s mind and heart sent him to his knees before Mycroft every night desperate to escape his tormented thoughts once again.  Mycroft readily gave him the relief he sought and pushed him to the point of exhaustion so that he might sleep peacefully for a few hours.  Sherlock would never know about the tears John cried when he thought Mycroft didn’t notice, or the dreams that had him talking in his sleep and waking unsettled.  Mycroft was more aware than ever that John’s feelings for Sherlock were far from behind him.  Even though John kept his shirts buttoned over it,  Mycroft was still surprised that Sherlock had failed to notice that he had begun wearing his collar practically everyday knowing he was going to have to face the detective and needing that reassurance to do so.  Sherlock didn’t seem to be aware of the subtle drop in John’s weight since he had returned either, he simply did not see.  But Mycroft saw it all.  His mind frequently replayed the days of watching John deteriorate after Sherlock’s ‘death’.  He despaired that some of the same things were beginning to repeat themselves now, and wondered if he would be enough to help John again.  He knew it wasn’t as bad because John had him this time to help him cope, to give him the love and care he needed.  Still he watched and worried and considered contacting John’s therapist once again, while he tried to think of a way to stop his little brother from unknowingly tearing John apart.

 

In the end, it would prove to be an outside source that put a stop to Sherlock’s digging.

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

The legalities had taken the better part of those first two weeks but at length everything was settled to allow Sherlock to resume his life.  Together they had decided on a press release and news conference that would outline his efforts to eradicate Moriarty’s network and the necessity for the ruse of his demise to facilitate that work. Everything was scheduled to occur in a week’s time now.  After all the work Greg had done to help John and Mycroft clear Sherlock’s name ‘posthumously’, telling him the truth was the hardest part of the preparations.  They had never shared any of their suspicions and hopes with him so the news was a complete shock.  He sat in the flat staring at Sherlock in disbelief while he talked, sparing a glance or two at John or Mycroft as they interjected comments.  Greg was a man of volatile passions but unlike John you couldn’t see the warning signs of impending eruption.  When all of the talking seemed to be at an end, Greg sighed and stood.  Sherlock rose to his feet as well, not sure what reaction to expect from the inspector.  Greg planted his hands on his hips and stared at Sherlock considering the younger man for a moment.  When he acted he moved so swiftly Sherlock had little chance to strike back though they knew very well he could have.  Perhaps he thought it was his due.  John could not stop Greg either, though he did move to try only to be held back by Mycroft’s restraining hand and a firm shake of his head.  Apparently Sherlock had it coming and Greg was going to be the one allowed to give it to him.

 

The first punch landed squarely in Sherlock’s abdomen, taking all the air from his lungs as his diaphragm contracted leaving him doubled over.  The second blow followed in a blur, a vicious right hook that caught Sherlock in the jaw and took him to the floor in seconds.  Sherlock was clutching his side, gasping for breath when Lestrade squatted down beside him, but he made no further move to strike the young detective.  Letting his elbows rest on his thighs, Lestrade let his hands dangle between his bent knees, fingers still flexing to relieve his knuckles.  After a moment of silently contemplating the man on the floor before him Greg started to speak.  The work worn voice ground out his words to Sherlock in a tone none of them had ever heard.  He wasn’t even screaming because, God help him, he knew if he did he might never stop the litany of things he wanted to say to one Sherlock Holmes right now.  Instead his restraint was all the more frightening.  “That is for John.” He paused to let that sink in before continuing.  “Because, Christ help the bloody bastard, he loves you too fucking much to do it himself, no matter how much you deserve it.  If you can even begin to comprehend what is good for you, you will get on your knees to your brother and thank him for John even being here for such a shit friend as you.  And if it hasn’t occurred to you yet, you should beg John, and I mean beg with all of your miserable heart for his forgiveness after the absolute hell you put him through.”  Sherlock’s eyes had grown wider with each new statement, his eyebrows in danger of meeting his hairline.  He had tried to raise up, desperately wanting to see John’s face….his reaction, but he didn’t dare look away from the irate Detective Inspector.  Greg lowered his voice to a harsh whisper when he continued.  “You shattered his world apart and never looked back, Sherlock. It wasn’t pretty and I don’t know if I can ever forgive you.  But sure...you took down Moriarty his goons.  Well done you.”  He clapped him twice on the back in a parody of congratulations that knocked him back to the floor. Sherlock didn’t bother to move this time, his thoughts in a chaotic tailspin.  For once he felt ashamed of his behavior and less like he had accomplished anything at all.

 

John had quietly slipped out of the flat after hearing what Greg said to Sherlock.  While he agreed that it probably needed to be said at some point, he simply could not deal with the fall out right now and Mycroft saw no need to stop him going either.

 

Greg nodded once to Mycroft as he left,  “See you at the press conference then.”  Mycroft merely nodded in reply, not commenting at all on what just happened.  Greg didn’t bother addressing or even looking at Sherlock again as he departed.  He did however stop when he stepped out the front door and caught up to John sitting on the bottom of the stairs, presumably waiting on Mycroft.  He shuffled sheepishly for a moment and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.  “Look I’m really sorry mate.  I know I shouldn’t have said so much….it wasn’t my place.  I was just so furious...hell, I’m still furious!  After all we went through…..after all he put you through.   Well, I guess I got carried away.  I really am sorry if I opened a can of worms for you.”

 

John waved him off quickly, “No Greg, you’re fine.  Nothing to apologize for, I was just as furious as you when he turned up, I just pushed it aside being happy he was back you know.  I don’t hold any of that,” John waved his hand above his head indicating the flat, “against you Greg.  It was an honest reaction and maybe Sherlock needed honest just now, yeah?   Really, I mean it now, no worries, mate.  We’ll see you at the conference, maybe hang out with a beer or two after, yeah?”

 

Greg still looked uncertain but nodded, “Yeah, sure thing.  I’ll be there with bells on.”  John managed to chuckle at his friend.  “Well I best get back to work then.  Think he’ll be okay up there?”

 

“Oh you know him Greg, he’ll be fine.  Get on with you.”

 

Greg was gone in a moment and John still sat and contemplated what had just happened.  He worried about Sherlock’s prior injuries, how he may respond to this attack, and whether it could trigger another episode but there was no way he was going back up those stairs and facing Sherlock tonight.

 

Back upstairs Mycroft gathered his laptop and papers in preparation to leave while Sherlock regained his breath and slowly pushed himself up to sit leaning against the front of the sofa.  He watched his brother’s movements in silence, replaying the words Lestrade had spoken. They were not the entire answer but several clues were there to the puzzle he was working on.  The biggest one being that Lestrade said John loved him too much. Sherlock latched onto that one statement with plans to review all of his other data in light of this new information just as soon as he was alone.  Other things were less clear, thanking Mycroft for John being here?  Why on earth would John not be here and why should he thank Mycroft for the fact that he was?  Mycroft had stolen John away from him, the last thing he would be doing was thanking him for that.  Most disturbingly were the random bits that made no sense, that left Sherlock convinced that he still needed more information.  The words ‘shit friend’, ‘shattered his world apart’, and ‘it wasn’t pretty’ nagging painfully in his chest for reasons he could not explain. 

 

When he saw Mycroft was about to leave, he finally asked what he needed to know the most right now.  “Was he right?  What he said about John and me, and you…...is it true?”

 

Mycroft gave him a long look, his expression unreadable, but answered him finally.  “Yes.  It’s true Sherlock.  All of it.”

 

Sherlock tried his best to cover the slight hitch in his breath when he heard his brother’s confirmation and gave the smallest reply to acknowledge he had heard.

 

“I see.”

 

Mycroft as well saw no need for additional comments.  “Indeed,” was all he said before he left the flat, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

Though the next few days passed quickly, they were torture as well.  Lestrade’s words had sent Sherlock into a whirlwind of thoughts and deductions.  He spent hours in his Mind Palace, reevaluating every moment of his relationship with John as if his life depended on it; sleeping intermittently, barely eating or drinking in his focus.  He began to question himself as never before; was he the reason John was with Mycroft, had he lost him because of his own choices, had he made a huge mistake, miscalculated even, and was there a way to fix it.  Sherlock had believed with absolute conviction that he had acted in John’s best interests but Lestrade and maybe even Mycroft seemed to think differently.  He suspected he did not know John’s actual feelings on the matter because he had closed himself off and hidden a great deal from him which Sherlock now realized.  John had never been able to hide from Sherlock the way he was doing now, he had always been able to deduce everything about him and this change was unsettling.  For a man already walking a veritable knife’s edge between sanity and darkness, unsettling was a bit not good.  He also had not seen John at all since Lestrade’s comments, four days without John’s presence at all, the dark dreams were returning…..becoming more real, and Sherlock was beginning to fight the return of that voice in his head, whispers of “not real” fighting to stake their claim on his reality once more.

 

John sat in the car once again, looking up at the windows of 221B, while Mycroft dropped off some more paperwork regarding Moriarty’s organization for Sherlock to look over.  He had told Mycroft to make the excuses for his absence: work, another appointment, etc., but he still felt badly for the lie.  He was being a coward, it wasn’t like him, but right now it was the truth.  He did not want to face Sherlock, face his questions, his deductions, he simply had no idea what he might say or do so he was avoiding the situation completely.  Greg had told Sherlock that John loved him, hinted at what occurred during the darkest months of his life.  John knew that Sherlock would have questions and he simply didn’t know if he could answer them.  Mycroft hadn’t pushed him either way but did offer the gentle reminder that he would have to face Sherlock sooner or later because he wasn’t going to go away. John knew that of course, but still he procrastinated.  He sat there a bit longer mentally kicking himself for a fool.  It had been four days since he had seen his friend, the other man who held his heart for better or worse.  He felt guilty that he had simply walked out without a word and just hadn’t returned.  Finally deciding he was being ridiculous, he screwed up his courage and got out of the car.  At least if he was going to face Sherlock, he could do it while Mycroft was here to act as a buffer if need be.  He had just stepped across the threshold when one of the ever present messenger or delivery bikes backfired in the road behind him with a loud ‘pop-pop’ causing John to flinch and fight the urge to duck, old soldier’s instincts and his own PTSD flaring up briefly before he brushed off the small nuisance and proceeded upstairs.

 

Sherlock hadn’t bothered to rise from the sofa when Mycroft arrived and barely even acknowledged his presence.  Well accustomed to his brother, Mycroft explained what he needed Sherlock to do with the folder he presented.  When no reply or outstretched hand was forthcoming, Mycroft simply dropped the folder onto the coffee table next to Sherlock.  He didn’t even bother making John’s excuses since Sherlock hadn’t been inclined to notice or ask after his absence.  “Well if you don’t mind, I shall make use of the facilities before I depart.  Busy afternoon you know.”

 

Sherlock barely grunted and Mycroft, expecting no further reply than that, disappeared into the bathroom.  Sherlock rolled his eyes once his brother was gone and sat up to look over the folder.  His eyes burned with fatigue but he needed some distraction from his thoughts.  As he suspected, it was another deposition regarding his work, reviewing them had become harder and harder.  Why he couldn’t just have told them the story one time, recorded for posterity and leave it behind forever he did not know.  He flipped slowly through the papers until he froze.  This folder contained pictures, places he’d been, people who fell victim to his mission, death, blood, and crime coalesced into an ongoing gruesome memory as Sherlock was sucked unwillingly into a sudden flashback.  He was already lost when the sound of the backfire reached him, sending him sprawling to the floor.  He was looking for his best chance at cover, convinced the gang he had been infiltrating had found him out and were after him now.  It was life or death, kill or be killed, and he heard an intruder on the stairs, growing ever closer.  In a flash he was on his feet, a heavy paperweight from the desk the nearest weapon he could find.  He hid behind the kitchen door, waited silently as the intruder entered, watched as he stepped just inside the door and looked around quietly.  He slipped out the door coming around behind the intruder at the main entrance.  The man had stopped, idly flipping through the photos on the coffee table, evidence Sherlock had accumulated on the gang, and was just about to turn into the rest of the flat.  Though Sherlock could not see a weapon he knew better than to take any chances with these people.  He couldn’t afford capture that would delay his mission or his return home to John.  With silent precision, he struck the back of the man’s head with all his strength, ignoring the sickening thud as the man dropped to the floor like a stone.  He stayed only long enough to make sure the man did not rise to pursue him before dropping the paperweight to grab his coat and disappearing down the stairs and out onto the street.  He could hide out among the homeless, he knew how to fit in there and remain unseen.  He walked steadily down the street without another look back.

 

Mycroft had heard the sound of movements and assumed Sherlock had finally decided to get up and do some work.  He was not prepared for what he found as he rounded the kitchen door and entered the sitting room.  He froze trying to process the unthinkable.  John lay face down just inside the door, blood flowing alarmingly from a gash to the back of his head while a bloody paperweight lay just outside the door on the landing.  Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.  It was only a moment that seemed to last an eternity before overwhelming panic finally broke through Mycroft’s stunned daze, sending him to his knees next to his fiance.

 

“John?!”

 

He called frantically as he felt for a pulse and only relaxed a fraction when he found it beating erratically in John’s carotid artery.  He was afraid to shake John or jostle him in any way but continued to call his name trying to illicit a response.  He couldn’t seem to breath as he desperately tried to remember what he should do now, this was His John and he needed help.  He kept one hand on John’s pulse while the other fumbled frantically for his phone, trying to pull it from his pocket and dial the number for an ambulance.  His hand shook so badly he dropped the phone and cursed himself roundly as he snatched it back up and tried again, still not about to let go of John.  Thankfully his people were smart, sharp and on their toes.  Before Mycroft could get the first number punched into the phone, it began to ring in his hand.  He nearly shouted when he answered it but calmed as he was promptly informed that an ambulance was already en route.  Mycroft allowed himself a moment to relax slightly and take a deep breath before continuing, still refusing to move his fingers from the all important pulse beneath them.  “Thank you.  Now, give me the rundown of the last five minutes.  Tell me what the hell just happened, and for God’s sake tell me you have a location on Sherlock!”

 

The line switched instantly to another person, security supervisor for this shift no doubt.  Mycroft knew the man in question and the tinge of nervousness he heard in the man’s normally stoic voice did not bode well.  “Sir, I saw the events as they happened and…I’m not sure….”  he took a sharp breath and continued quickly getting it out in a rush, “Sir, I don’t know how to tell you this but it was the younger Mister Holmes who injured Captain Watson.  He was acting oddly all of a sudden, Sir.  When Captain Watson entered he came up behind him and struck him down.  Then he simply got his coat and walked out.”

 

Mycroft had not felt such a profound surge of rage in a very long time, his jaw clenched painfully and he had to force himself not to yell at his associate as he gave the necessary orders.  His voice was hard and icy in his fury when he spoke, “Pick him up.  Pick him up now!  Before he manages to disappear.  Sedate and restrain him if you have to, anticipate resistance, do your best to bring him in without undue harm.  You will deliver him to the private psychiatric ward at Bart’s.  Do you understand?”

 

The man responded promptly, “Yes Sir.  Understood.  Pick-up being deployed as we speak.”

 

Mycroft for once was glad he had had occasion to make many forms of preparation for dealing with Sherlock.  There was no time to waste in this instance.  He knew Sherlock would never have hurt John if he was in his right mind, obviously another sort of break had occurred and something would have to be done.  Mycroft glanced over the still form of his soldier, forcing himself to reign in the anger he was experiencing as he heard the ambulance arrive and the medics scrambling up the stairs.  Reluctantly, he stepped back as they crowded around, assessing John.  As he did, he noticed the folder he had given Sherlock, the contents now spread across the coffee table.  He moved to collect the sensitive documents and put them away only to be brought short by the rather graphic photos in among the paperwork.  He mentally cursed himself for not checking the folder.  John and he had discussed possible triggers for Sherlock’s PTSD and photos were a definite ‘No’.  They had made such a habit of removing photos from the papers Sherlock had to look at that it had become second nature.  Mycroft suspected the pictures had something to do with the attack on John and kicked himself further.  How had he forgotten to check?

 

He watched as a C-collar was fitted around John’s neck and thought absently that he was glad he wasn’t wearing his collar today to hinder the job the medics had to do.  He shook his head over the things even his disciplined mind could think of in times of stress.  Soon enough the medics were sliding John onto a backboard and lifting him to the stretcher for transport.  Mycroft worried that he had not regained consciousness at all but would have to await the verdict of his doctors.  Folder in hand, Mycroft closed the door behind him and followed the medics out to the ambulance.  They already had all of the pertinent information so he only waited long enough for them to load John in, before climbing into his car for the ride to the hospital.

 

{*} {*} {*}

 

Sherlock was walking along the busy sidewalk, apparently lost in thought.  He didn’t seem to be watching where he was going very well, soon bumping shoulders with a passing pedestrian.  The normal everyday bump brought Sherlock back to himself but left him very disoriented and upset.  Where the hell was he?  He had been at home, Mycroft had come by and….he…..he couldn’t remember what happened next.  How had he ended up out here walking around?  Why was he walking and to where?  For that matter, why was he even out on the street when they had not announced he was alive yet?  Sherlock ducked into the nearest alley and leaned back against the stone wall trying to recall anything. Had he been drugged again?  He didn’t like not knowing, he liked the glaring gap in his memory even less.  He raised his right hand to rub at his aching temple only to see bright red blood smeared across his knuckles.  If he had had any doubts before, he was now certain that he must have had another episode like the night of his return.  His hand began to shake, his breath coming short and fast as his anxiety mounted.  He should get home.  He needed to talk to Mycroft….no, he needed John.  John would help him get through this, he just knew it.  No matter what he had done, John would help him.  He stumbled back towards the mouth of the alley, not at all surprised when he was stopped by Mycroft’s men.  He looked at the wary faces of the four men sent to collect him, noting the ready restraints and what was most likely a fast acting sedative in one agent’s hands.  He could run.  He knew he could, four men was practically childsplay to him after his time away.  But there was blood, fresh blood staining his hands and he was not the one injured this time.  Fear and uncertainty warred within, he knew the things he had done…..the things he had become capable of doing.  His anxiety shot up another notch and he looked lost as he held up his hands in surrender and asked softly, “What did I do?”

 

The men didn’t bother to give him an answer and he didn’t fight them as they cuffed him for safety and placed him in the car for transport.  He didn’t give them a reason to sedate him at any rate, he just absently studied the seat in front of him, lost in the whorls of the patterned fabric as he considered what he might have done.

 

Sherlock found that he was afraid to know the answer to his question after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock jerked awake suddenly. The bright lights hurt his eyes and he blinked rapidly as he tried to adjust. He couldn't remember what had woken him, or where he was for that matter. Had he been captured again, some straggler he missed caught up with him after all? His new cell was certainly clean and bright if that was the case. He groaned slightly and tried to lift his hands to rub over his face. When he met firm resistance, his eyes were finally drawn down to his wrists where medical grade leather restraints held him securely to what was obviously a hospital bed. A quick attempt with his feet and a glance further down revealed the same for his ankles. With stunning clarity, the memory of just where he was returned, along with a startling degree of anger tinged with fear.

Sherlock had paid little attention to where they had been heading, as he rode with Mycroft's men. He didn't even argue when they ushered him out of the car. It wasn't until he finally looked up that he saw the worn brick of Bart's hospital and the orderlies dressed in white, waiting with a wheelchair for him. He knew exactly what Mycroft had arranged and despite still being cuffed, his fight or flight response kicked in in seconds. The guard to his right suffered a broken nose before he could even raise a hand towards Sherlock. The guard to his left took a painfully sharp elbow to the diaphragm, leaving him doubled over on the pavement. Sherlock was able to land a solid kick to the chest of the third guard rushing to restrain him, but the fourth had managed to get in behind his back. He found himself tackled to the ground a moment later, the guard straddling his back to keep him down even as he thrashed and tried to buck him off. He screamed in frustration when an iron grip pressed his head to the side to hold him still while the sharp prick of a needle entered his neck. It only took a moment or two for the world to turn gray around him before slowly fading to black.

As fast as the memory returned, so did Sherlock's anger at his brother and the situation he had put him in. Sherlock yanked at his restraints with all of his strength while roaring out his frustrations. He was met with only silence when he finally stopped and allowed himself to look around the barren room. He was certain he was being watched, so he breathed in deeply through his nose and attempted to calm himself. He had been through worse than this while he was away. He just had to focus and think clearly to figure out how to get out of this. He was drawn from his thoughts by the snick of the door opening. When he raised his eyes, he was met with the visage of his dear brother, dressed to the nines and looking grim. Sherlock fought his desire to yell at Mycroft instantly, instead studying him carefully, even as he was studied in turn. On closer inspection he could see minute wrinkles in Mycroft's suit, as if he had been wearing it for an extended period of time without changing, and a certain tension around his lips and eyes. Either there was quite a crisis brewing somewhere in the world, or Sherlock had done something far more serious than he could imagine. He settled for gritting his teeth as he tugged slightly against his restraints and spoke as calmly as he could manage.

"Get me out of these, Mycroft. You know how I feel about this." He was met with a disturbing silence. Mycroft merely continued to study him as if deciding something. Sherlock began to worry. Surely his brother did not intend to leave him here? He knew how much Sherlock hated and distrusted places like this after his extensive history. He couldn't possibly merit such treatment. When the silence lingered, he began to wonder where John was. John wouldn't allow Mycroft to keep him here by force, he was certain of that. John knew enough of his history as well. He sucked in a sharp breath when a new thought occurred, Mycroft couldn't have had him locked up without John's knowledge. Could he? Would he be that duplicitous with his own fiance? The old Mycroft that Sherlock knew was certainly more than capable of it. He couldn't stop the rising panic as he thought that he was here, and John had no idea what had happened.

Cautiously he spoke again, "Where is John, Mycroft? As my doctor, shouldn't he be here as well?" Sherlock knew without a doubt he had made a mistake, had misspoke in some way that he was unaware of. Oh there was no outward sign, nothing to clue the watching staff in to what was going on, but Sherlock knew. The muscle along Mycroft's jaw clenched so tightly that Sherlock could virtually feel the pain of it himself. The normally icy eyes blazed with a fury that frightened Sherlock more than anything in years. What could he have said or done to warrant that look from Mycroft? He was certain he had never had that look bestowed upon him by his brother in all of their many fights. He didn't chance another word, merely waited for whatever Mycroft was going to say or do now.

Mycroft was fighting the urge to strangle Sherlock with his bare hands, or at least punch him very hard. He knew rationally that Sherlock had no knowledge of what he had done, nor to whom. But he had spent the past four hours at John's bedside, waiting for him to wake up. Waiting for some hint of consciousness. He had not felt so anxious and helpless since the last attempt that nearly cost John's life because of his grief over Sherlock. Only the alert from the staff that Sherlock was waking had pulled him from John's side. So it was with profound difficulty that Mycroft restrained himself at Sherlock's unknowing words. Only once he felt he had regained some semblance of control and could speak normally, did he dare continue. He reached into the briefcase he had brought with him and pulled out the laptop. He approached the bed and placed the laptop on Sherlock's thighs; there was enough slack in the restraints to allow him to bend his elbows and reach the laptop and keyboard as needed for this.

"You will view this video footage in it's entirety. It ranges from the time you returned home up until yesterday. I have personally edited it to pertinent events to save time, but there is still a good bit you need to see. When you have finished, and only then, will we discuss your cooperation and recovery options." And with that, he turned to leave. There was nothing more he could do until Sherlock was willing to face the truth and he needed to get back to John.

Sherlock stared after his brother for long minutes. Something was odd about the whole interaction that had just transpired; he just couldn't put his finger on what wasn't right. He looked down at the laptop and felt an unreasonable surge of anger again. What did Mycroft think he was going to see or hear that would suddenly make him cooperate with forced confinement or any kind of psychotherapy. They had been through this repeatedly when he was younger and always to disastrous results. Well, he had no intention of cooperating this time either. Mycroft would just have to make other arrangements. Sherlock used what slack he had in his arms to slide the laptop over to his left side, leaving it leaning against the side rail. He then proceeded to wiggle his hips from side to side, bucking occasionally for more motion. Eventually he had bounced and scooted until the laptop slid between the bed and rail, finally sinking to the floor with a satisfying thump. Sherlock closed his eyes with a smug smirk, submerging himself in his Mind Palace to prepare for his next encounter with his brother.

{*} {*} {*}

John slowly became aware of his environment well before he could even manage to flutter his eyelids. The miscellaneous sounds of monitors and pumps sounded quite loud to his ears, while the noise of numerous people talking and going about their duties was muffled somewhat. Paired with the sharp pain in his head, it wasn't hard to figure out he was in a hospital. He may not be a Holmes but he was a doctor. He kept as still as he could so he wouldn't disturb his head and focused on a careful self-inventory, as he tried to bring himself fully awake. Slowly flexing and relaxing various muscle groups, he soon established that he didn't seem to have any other injuries beyond this horrible headache. So a head injury of some sort. He finally managed to blink his eyes open, feeling as if the lids were glued together. Thankfully, the harsh artificial lights were dimmed and there wasn't any natural light coming through the window.  _I wonder what time it is,_  he thought,  _and how long have I been here. For that matter, what in the hell happened._

He tried to look around the room, moving his head as little as possible, though even the small movement sent new pain throbbing through his skull with every beat of his heart. Private room, quiet and secure, Mycroft's doing no doubt. Once he cast his gaze carefully to his left, he found his erstwhile fiance. John's left hand was clasped firmly in the hold of long graceful fingers while the man himself was obviously asleep. His cheek was perched precariously on the palm of his right hand while his elbow propped on the bed next to John's hip. John smiled tenderly, it was obvious Mycroft had been by his side for a while, probably since he was brought in in fact. He cherished these moments of unguarded vulnerability that only he was allowed to see. He longed to reach out and brush his fingertips across the brow still furrowed with worry even in sleep. Instead, he settled for carefully clearing his throat, an action which still caused a fresh burst of pain and a resultant groan. It was just as well since the pain prevented him from laughing as his love awoke, his head jerking sharply as he slipped off his perch in his haste to see about John.

"John!" Long fingers brushed gently along his temple and cheek, seeking reassurance that he was alright.

John smiled the warmest smile he could manage and spoke softly, "Hello, love. There's a face I haven't seen in a while."

Mycroft managed a small smile in return but the worry was not erased just yet. "And just what face is that, my dear?"

John managed to brush his thumb back and forth over the fingers holding his hand. Offering as much comfort as he could, "That's the 'I love you, please be okay' face, and you haven't had to wear it in a very long time. I'm sorry for whatever made you wear it this time. Hopefully it is not on account of me screwing up royally."

John could hear the small hitch Mycroft tried to hide when he replied. "No, you did nothing. It was my screw-up this time. I'm sorry."

John knew how Mycroft could be when it came to him and was certain he was not literally responsible for him being in the hospital, even if he felt he was to blame. Best put a stop to that train of thought as soon as possible. "Mycroft, whatever blame you think is yours, forget about it. I am beyond certain that you didn't do anything to put me in a hospital bed with a splitting headache." He winced at a particularly sharp burst of pain, but continued on, "What did happen by the way? We were at the flat, and now we're here. Everything in between is a blank for me. Uhm, how long has it been anyway? I mean how long was I out?" He looked expectantly over at Mycroft only to have most of his answers deferred.

"Approximately six hours. It's either very late evening or early morning, depending on your point of view. We'll talk about the rest when you're a bit more recovered and perhaps in less pain. I should have called your doctor and nurse as soon as you woke. They'll need to look you over, of course. I was merely so happy to see you alert once more that I simply failed to consider." He smiled a genuine smile this time, as he reached over to ring John's nurse call. "The doctor did one CT scan when you were admitted, but he may want a follow-up later today as well. Give yourself some time, and I promise I will fill you in" He saw the argument forming on John's lips and quickly leaned forward to stop him with a tender kiss. "Soon, my love. I promise." Another soft kiss brushed across John's chapped lips, followed by a quiet whisper, "Thank you for coming back to me."

John reached up to cup the stubbled cheek tenderly, "But of course, how could I ever stay away from you." Each was held by the other's eyes, silently communicating much between the two men. All too soon the nurse descended, followed by the doctor and their thoughts turned to other matters for the time being.

{*} {*} {*}

Two hours later, Mycroft found Sherlock, presumably in his Mind Palace, though he did hope that meant he was considering his actions. "Well brother, what do you have to say for yourself in light of what you have seen?"

Sherlock didn't bother ignoring his brother, "I have seen nothing but the inside of my Mind Palace, brother dear. What else did you expect me to see?"

Mycroft stared at him for a fraction of a second before glancing around the room in search of the missing laptop. A few steps towards the window revealed the end of the laptop sticking out from under the side of the bed. Mycroft spared only a minute glare at his brother for his childish behavior. He didn't have time for this, he had to get back to John. Mycroft had stepped out to 'get a cup of coffee' while the doctor's had looked over John, so he didn't have long. He had no patience left for Sherlock and his antics. As much as he understood, this time Sherlock would have to play by the rules and get proper help. He couldn't risk anyone else to Sherlock's unpredictable behavior. "I shall return momentarily brother. This shall be dealt with as soon as I speak to your nurses."

He was gone all of ten minutes and Sherlock spared him only a brief glance before retreating to his mind palace again. Mycroft retrieved the laptop from it's resting place and took it over to the small table near the window. He pulled the table closer to the bed, not within Sherlock's reach but within easy viewing distance. He had also gotten permission to plug the laptop in and leave it since Sherlock would be unable to reach it. He again brought up the footage he wanted Sherlock to see, turned up the volume on the laptop and set it to play on a continuous loop. In other circumstances, with other footage or sounds, this could be construed as torture. The type they might subject prisoners of war to. Well, Sherlock wasn't a prisoner, but he was in denial, and he was going to have to face what was happening to him… what he had done. If he was going to be stubborn, then Mycroft had no other choice. He turned to face Sherlock once more. "You will watch and hear this footage, Sherlock. One way or the other. I shall return again when you have had time to consider your actions." He pressed the button to begin play and turned to leave. He had just touched the door handle when he heard Sherlock speak.

"You never did tell me where John is… why isn't he here? Does he approve of this information you are so certain I need to see?" Sherlock watched as the tension visibly built in his brother's shoulders, even though he did not speak. Then he was completely startled and surprised when Mycroft left and actually slammed the door behind himself. Sherlock stared at the door in shock. Something, was indeed very wrong. Mycroft had not consciously slammed a door since… well, never that Sherlock could recall. He could only hope for a bit of trouble in paradise then. He glanced over to the computer screen, which at the moment showed him sitting on the sofa in the flat looking decidedly absent. He rolled his eyes, then promptly closed them again and returned to his Mind Palace.  _Two could play this game_ , he thought.

Mycroft stopped at the nurses' desk, his face a mask of furious determination as he spoke to the nurses. "That video is to continue playing no matter what. I don't care what he says, what he does, how he threatens or offends you. I don't care if you change shifts in thirty minutes. You will pass it along in your report that the video is to continue until I personally return. Then I will be the one to turn it off. Your patient has a long history of avoiding therapy or help of any kind and it stops now. He will face the truth and the repercussions of his actions."

The nurses nodded in agreement, not one of them about to dispute this man. Most had dealt with the government official before, and all were sworn to a binding confidentiality clause regarding government patients as it was, but especially those brought in by him. A sharp nod and he was gone again without a backwards glance.

{*}{*}{*}

Once the doctor had completed his bedside exam, he did indeed send John off for a follow-up CT scan, though he was not inclined to wait for later in the morning. John grumbled the entire time about doctor's who couldn't wait until a decent hour for procedures and letting patients rest. His head throbbed with every movement and his stomach was lurched with all the stimulation. He hoped that doctor was in range when he finally threw up, probably not an attainable goal but it cheered him to think of it. When the scan was finished, Mycroft made certain John was happily ensconced in his bed before offering a hot meal Clarence had delivered personally from home, along with the well wishes of all the staff. Dawn had not even broke over London yet and the fact that the household staff had gone to all this trouble for him was quite touching to the former soldier. After a few minutes to let himself settle, he began to carefully eat, noting he was actually hungry.

Mycroft interpreted John's quiet mood without difficulty. "Why are you so surprised John? You endear people to you wherever you go. The staff have all grown to love you in the year you have been with us. They follow my instructions out of duty and loyalty, but they would do anything for you just because of who you are, John."

John blushed lightly as he ate, "It's very nice of them and I will have to think of something to show my appreciation." He was quiet, thinking for a moment again, "I don't do anything special, you know… with the staff. I'm just myself. And… I guess it's still just unfamiliar for me… having so many people who care." He raised his eyes to meet Mycroft's knowing smile.

"Well, yours is a life worth caring about, so it is no surprise to me." Much later, Mycroft would realize he should have seen it coming but for now he was caught off guard by John's change of topic.

"So, where is Sherlock hiding? Even if you banished him from the hospital, I doubt he would listen." John chuckled to himself despite the wince it caused, "Don't tell me you actually managed to keep me being injured from him?" Between eating and being amused with his thoughts, it took a moment or two for John to realize he hadn't gotten an answer. His food settled into an uncomfortable knot in his stomach as he studied Mycroft's face. "What's happened to Sherlock, Mycroft? Was he injured too? Is that why he's not here? Is that why I'm here? Someone came after him." His alarm was growing with every second Mycroft did not answer him, the nervous tick of the muscle along his jaw only serving as proof to John that something was terribly wrong.

Mycroft still had not determined the best way to approach this with John, however the man was already far more worked up than he needed to be at the moment. So Mycroft sought to calm him quickly, "No, John. No. Sherlock is not injured, so calm yourself. He's perfectly fine. He's even nearby and being watched so you needn't worry. Now relax, all this tension is not going to help your headache."

John eyed Mycroft for a moment and then his forgotten food. He pushed his plate away, sadly having lost what appetite he had now. He knew when Mycroft was not being completely forthcoming and now both the doctor and the soldier wanted answers. "Headache be damned Mycroft!" The outburst prompted John to raise his hand to his head, pressing his palm against the throbbing ache as he persisted. "I want you to tell me what is going on. I have obviously missed a few things and you know how much I hate being in the dark when it comes to Sherlock, or you, either one." He paused long enough to level his best Captain Watson glare at Mycroft before continuing, "Now, if you will kindly explain why Sherlock is being watched and just how near he is and why all of this is happening, then I might consent to calm down a bit."

Mycroft knew that look, knew that John would dig his heels in and fight him until he had his answers. What he needed most was quiet and rest at the moment, which he wouldn't get without an adequate response. With a soft sigh he replied, "Sherlock is being monitored upstairs in a private psych ward. I had him brought in before he could lose himself among his homeless network. It was necessary."

John could only stare in confusion as the implications of Mycroft's simple words sank in. "You… you locked him up?!" John's voice had risen sharply with each word as anger began to overtake confusion, pushing him beyond the pain in his head. "You know how he responds to being confined! We've talked about this and you go ahead and lock him away with… without even consulting me?!" John's temper had been seething as he spoke and seemed to be reaching a fever pitch. "What could possibly have possessed you, Mycroft?! What were you thinking?  _Why?_  I just can't understand, why would you do this to him?"

Mycroft had become increasingly worried about John as his temper rose. He knew John didn't know the truth but he couldn't quite help the self righteous indignation he felt at the implication he had done this without a valid reason. Just as John seemed to reach his conclusion, Mycroft finally snapped.  _"Because he put you here!"_ He took a moment to reign in his uncharacteristic outburst before speaking again. "He is the reason you are in this hospital. He is the reason you were unconscious for six hours and will be recovering from a concussion for the next week." John had deflated almost instantly as Mycroft spoke, suspecting what could have happened. "Sherlock had another episode when we were at the flat. He attacked you and left you bleeding on the floor, walking out without another look back." He gave John a moment to let those words sink in, "I had to bring him in before he simply disappeared somewhere. He is upstairs, annoyed but safe; safe from hurting anyone else and safe from harming himself And I have no intention of him leaving here until he faces the truth about his condition, and we make some kind of arrangements for therapy. I realize your feelings in the matter, but think about it rationally, John. Mrs. Hudson comes home from her holiday this week. Would you have me risk her safety with Sherlock in the flat, given his current condition?"

John shook his head slowly, "No. I wouldn't want to risk it either, not if he can cause such harm and never realize…" He trailed off as that thought triggered another, "Does he know what he did? Does he know he did this to me?"

"He did not know an hour ago, but I am sure he will be getting to it shortly if he hasn't already," Mycroft offered cryptically.

"Why? What did you do? How is he finding out? Mycroft?"

Mycroft shifted slightly, suspecting further disapproval was about to be thrown his way. "I prepared a video with the edited footage of his behavior in the flat, both from that first night and the afternoon he attacked you. He brushed it off when you and I tried to speak to him, but this time he will be made to see. He will have to face the problem and agree to get help. He has been stubborn but he will be made to see reason now."

John's voice had taken on a steely edge when he next spoke, "Just  _how_  exactly will he be made to see? Tell me what you have done or Sherlock certainly will."

Mycroft knew that steely tone, he had faced off against Captain Watson over Sherlock many times in the past. "He is restrained so that he can not stop the video until I return to do so. He will watch, hear, and see exactly what he has done. Then he can no longer deny the facts. It has to work John." Mycroft found himself pleading anxiously for John to understand what had to be done. "How else am I to reach him, John? How can I prevent another attack on you or someone else? He has to see, what if he manages to kill an innocent person the next time?"

John was fighting with himself, physically due to the concussion as well as mentally and emotionally over this situation and Mycroft's actions. He actually understood what Mycroft was saying, he really did. But he also knew Sherlock, and he could only imagine what this was doing to him. As his friend and his doctor, he felt this should have been handled more carefully. He loved Mycroft deeply but right now he was furious with him and frankly terrified for Sherlock's well being. There was too much to deal with all at once, he had to prioritize, and right now his priority had to be Sherlock. Using all of his military training, he carefully shut everything else into its own compartment, overrode the pain, and focused on the problem of Sherlock and how to help him.

Mycroft had watched the play of thought and emotion across John's face as he waited for a reply. He was surprised when John pushed back the blankets, starting to slowly and carefully get out of bed. "Wha… what are you doing John?"

John speared his fiance with another glare, "I am going to see about Sherlock. If you would be so kind as to tell me, where they put my clothes? I'd rather not roam the halls in my gown, not the proper impression for a doctor to give."

"John, there is no way you are going to see Sherlock! You are still recovering from a significant concussion." Mycroft was taken aback by the expression on John's face when he tried to stop him.

"Don't think you are going to stop me, Mister Mycroft Holmes. I am going to see to Sherlock! I am going to see if I can prevent your  _brilliant_ , and not medically sound, by the way, approach from causing any further harm than it already has." John had to stop and take a few deep breaths to deal with the sudden spike of pain and dizziness that followed his speech.

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, only to doubt the certainty of his words before he finally managed, "Now John, surely you don't think I would allow any harm to come to Sherlock. He is being carefully watched and the staff have their instructions."

"You strapped him to a bed and forced him to watch as he attacked the very man he, you yourself have pronounced, loves! You've left him with no reassurance of the outcome of his actions, nothing to allow him not to think the worst! Please tell me again, how you are keeping him from harm, Mycroft!" This outburst immediately followed by John's fierce curse, "Oh...Ow...Damn my head!"

John had made it to his feet at the bedside, only to be hit with a stabbing pain in his head and an overwhelming dizziness, his knees buckling swiftly underneath him. Only Mycroft's presence kept him from striking his head on the tile floor. So the concussion was more severe than John had thought, a fact which did not make him any less resentful as Mycroft helped him back into bed. Sherlock. He was focusing on Sherlock and that matter had to be dealt with as swiftly as possible before more damage could be done. As soon as he was safely seated again in the bed, John swatted away Mycroft's hands. "Fine. If I can't get to Sherlock right now, then you will go up there and stop this….this video or whatever. I agree that Sherlock has to know the truth but forcing it on him like this is dangerous, Mycroft! Don't you understand, it could trigger anything from another flashback to a complete mental break. Do you want to be responsible for costing your brilliant brother his control of the mind he holds dear." Mycroft truthfully had not thought of that possibility and suddenly the time he had left Sherlock alone with the video still playing weighed heavily on his heart. John saw the expression and feared what it implied as he let the cold steel of his fury be heard clearly in his voice again. "Mycroft Holmes, you will get upstairs, you will stop that video, and you will reassure your brother that I am fine and that he can not be blamed for these problems after all he has been through! You will give him all of the care and concern you have showered me with for the past year. You will fix this or so help me, I will sleep at the flat for the next month… alone!"

Mycroft was beyond amazed at John's attitude and words. He had always known how fiercely loyal and protective John was of Sherlock, even before he had figured out that the good doctor actually loved his brother. The fact that John was sitting here, now threatening him over Sherlock, could have been a bullhorn announcing that he would have to share his fiance with his brother, for the effect it had on him. He wasn't certain how or what he felt about that at that moment, so he put it aside for later thought and instead addressed a still irate John. "I will go. I will go right now, John. But you have to promise to rest… please? I will come back just as soon as I am sure Sherlock is okay. And then, well then maybe we can work out what to do next."

John refused to speak further and actually turned his head away from Mycroft. He was furious and worried and impotent to change either thing. He closed his eyes as he rested his head back on the pillows and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. The door closed quietly as Mycroft left without another word. As much as John needed to rest, Mycroft suspected he would simply stew until he knew Sherlock was alright.

{*} {*} {*}

For a man who lived by the calm, cool facade he exuded, Mycroft Holmes fidgeted nervously as the elevator took him to Sherlock's floor. Suddenly the elevator, the sign-in process, even the steps required to take him to Sherlock's room were simply too time consuming. The sense of urgency he had acquired from John followed him to the ward like a dark shroud of worry and self-doubt. The fact that every nurse at the desk averted their eyes from him as he approached did nothing to settle Mycroft's subconscious fears. He squared his shoulders as he reached for the door, fully prepared to deal with the consequences of his actions.

He was wrong.

Taking in the sight that met his eyes as he entered the sterile environment of the room turned his stomach. In fact, he suspected his appetite would not be right for days. His ingrained response was to turn and yell at the staff for allowing his brother to get into this shape. But he could not even do that, he himself had basically told them to ignore Sherlock while the video played. The video that still played. Mycroft crossed the room swiftly to stop the footage but not before the blow to John's head replayed yet again with a resounding thunk. The sudden groan called his attention to the bed as Sherlock turned his head and shoulders away as far as he could manage and promptly dry heaved forcefully. The evidence of prior bouts was all over the bed and himself, indicating there simply was nothing left to expel.

Sherlock lay silent in the bed once the retching had passed, the periodic snuffle of a soft sob the only thing to be heard in the now silent room. He didn't even acknowledge that the video had stopped, nor Mycroft's presence in the room. He stared at the far wall, eyes puffy and reddened while the dried tracks of salty tears were overlayed by the moist trail of fresh ones. His gaze was glassy and distant, his hair plastered to his forehead with perspiration. He had bounced, rocked, jerked, and twisted himself as much as possible within the bed until the bedclothes lay in a shambles around him. Both fresh and old emesis had his pajamas plastered to his still too thin body and there were visible shivers as the wet clothes chilled him. Bright red blood smeared the restraints and the bed where Sherlock had jerked and fought to get loose, to get away, to do anything to stop the video from continuing again and again. He understood now. This was his punishment for hurting John. This was Mycroft putting his anger into action, and he was to be at his mercy from now on. He supposed he had survived worse already. He understood, he deserved this and he didn't blame Mycroft. Not really. He would tell him when he returned. He would apologize… it wouldn't help, he knew that too, but he would do it. He still had a small hope that John was yet alive. Surely Mycroft would have had him killed already if John wasn't alive. John just had to be alive or he would never survive this. He would never make it out of this hospital alive if he had actually killed His John with his own hands. He knew that beyond certainty.

Mycroft had been calling Sherlock's name softly for several minutes, wary of startling him in his current state. When no response was forthcoming, he finally stepped forward and lay one hand carefully on his brother's arm, "Sherlock?"

The response was instant, Sherlock flinched hard, jerking against his restraints again as he tried to put distance between himself and his brother. Surely Mycroft had come to finish him off or torment him further. "I'm sorry!" he blurted out in a panicked voice. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I would never… not John… never John!"

Mycroft was struggling to maintain his own composure upon seeing his brother like this and knowing that this time he was the cause. He stepped back a moment and thought about what to do. John's words came back to him.

" _You will give him all the care and concern you have showered me with for the past year."_

Clever John, he knew what to do. Sherlock was just as damaged now, as John had been when he grieved. He needed to be cared for whether he realized it or not. Mycroft stepped out to the desk and requested the things he would need to help Sherlock. He also called and spoke with John's doctor to arrange a visit by wheelchair. He knew it wasn't hospital protocol, but he was a man of power after all. John was stable enough, if assisted with the wheelchair, and he needed him; Sherlock needed him. He suspected getting anywhere with Sherlock would be difficult until he was certain John was alright. He called to make John aware of the plan and then returned to the room to take care of his brother.

He took off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves before he approached the bed carefully, sitting on the end near Sherlock's feet as he spoke. "Sherlock? I am sorry. I am sorry to force you to see that. I was not thinking clearly and should have made better choices where you were concerned. I do not expect you to forgive me for it at the moment, but will you allow me to help you get cleaned up? John is coming to see you and I'm sure you would prefer to be clean when he comes."

Sherlock had stared without seeing as he spoke. He quickly shook his head and started to mumble to himself, "It's a trick. They always try to trick you, you know that. John isn't coming. You hurt John, he can't come. He'll probably never want to see you again. It's Mycroft… but it-it's still a trick… can't be right." He continued mumbling and shaking his head, any move Mycroft made in his direction resulting in another flinch or jerk.

Mycroft wanted to remove the restraints cutting into Sherlock's abused flesh but hesitated due to Sherlock's obviously precarious state. He tucked a warm blanket over the chilled body and resigned himself to waiting for John. John would see everything and know that it was all his doing. He suspected he may yet be sleeping alone for the next month. However, he also recalled Sherlock's response when he was 'handled' by Captain Watson during that first break at the flat. From the looks of it, that was exactly what it was going to take to get Sherlock cleaned up and treated. He still had not determined if Sherlock had truly submissive tendencies or if he only responded to John in this way. He left Sherlock alone and went out to the desk to wait for John. He thought they would need to talk a moment before dealing with Sherlock.

John arrived within half an hour, dressed in pajamas and a robe and still looking a little green but otherwise alert, attentive, and ready to do what he could for Sherlock. Mycroft was just coming out of the room after checking on his brother once again. He was calmer but otherwise unchanged. Mycroft thanked the nurse for escorting John to the floor, then assumed command of the chair himself, pushing John a bit further down the hall to a family waiting area so they could talk.

"Why did you bring me down here? Aren't we going to see Sherlock?" John's anxiety to see Sherlock's condition himself made him impatient.

"Certainly, we are going to see about Sherlock. But I need to prepare you and fully understand you will be unhappy with me when I do." Without dragging it out, Mycroft dove right in, telling John exactly how he had found Sherlock and the condition he was in both mentally and physically. He did not miss the tightening of John's jaw or the growing scowl on his face as he spoke but he continued until he had finished. John did not speak as Mycroft finished, merely glared and ground his teeth. Never a good sign. "I have tried to do as you said John and give him care, but he won't let me help. He won't…"

"Well I'm not surprised!" John finally snapped. "You are the one who put him here and basically tortured him with his own failings! Why in the world would he be inclined to let you help him now?!"

Mycroft felt an unfamiliar flush come over his face as John berated him. He was unaccustomed to actually being chastised for his actions but he let John's words wash over him nevertheless. When the initial wave of anger seemed to have passed, Mycroft began again. "The fact remains that we must help him, John. And I believe it will require both of us. You can't stay on your feet long enough to help bath and change him and you know he won't let strangers near him right now. I can help but he resists me, so we need to come up with an approach that will reach him and allow us both to help him."

"Well, just what do you propose? I'm not even sure what will reach him at the moment, let alone induce him to cooperate."

Mycroft had retrieved his laptop from Sherlock's room and had it waiting. He opened it as he picked up the conversation. "I think that Captain Watson needs to take charge." He could see the incredulous question forming on John's lips and stilled his lips with a finger. "Just watch, please. Pay careful attention to Sherlock and his response." John still looked angry as well as skeptical, so Mycroft coaxed, "Please, John. It may be all we have to work with right now. You'll see… please?"

John scanned his face for a moment, no doubt judging his sincerity, before giving a sharp nod and turning his attention to the screen. The video began and John immediately recognized the day he found Sherlock in his bedroom. Mycroft skipped the scene forward until he reached the part where John confronted Sherlock. John leaned forward and paid careful attention as Mycroft requested. Things he had dismissed in the heat of the moment then, coming clearly into focus now. He saw Sherlock's obvious shudder when he spoke, using his Captain's voice to gain his attention. The close-up on Sherlock's face when he brought him to his knees allowed him to see quite vividly the wide eyes and rapidly dilating pupils. He remembered now that he had briefly noticed the response but there were other more pressing matters to attend to then. He observed as Sherlock trembled at his command, then sagged limply against him in… in  _submission_. The thought, so sharp and sudden in his mind, startled him and he glanced sharply at Mycroft. Mycroft merely nodded and John returned his eyes to the screen. He watched the remainder of that night until he got Sherlock into bed with a refocused eye on the subconscious behavior now quite clear to be seen. He remembered a fleeting thought from that night weeks ago and saw the truth of it now. The video switched off after that scene and John sat back in his wheelchair, thinking to himself, fingers still rubbing absently over his aching head. Mycroft left him to his thoughts for the time being. There was a lot to consider after all.

John finally looked up and spoke, "Has it always been there or is it new? I mean, has he always had a tendency toward submission? I certainly would never think so, based on my knowledge and experience with the man, but you have known him for his whole life. Is it a new response in general or a new response to me? We have to tread carefully if we intend to use this in order to help him."

Mycroft nodded and offered what he knew based on his years of knowledge of his brother. "He has never displayed any tendency for submission as you can well imagine. During his years of drug addiction, he could be manipulated and used more easily by his dealers and such but he still was not submissive. I think it is a combination of things. It is a new response but it is not actually new in regards to you. Sherlock knew your voice, your command voice, as soon as he heard it and responded to it physically but did not submit immediately. Only when you persisted, when you physically dominated him and ordered him, did he actually submit. I think perhaps Sherlock has always, shall we say, had a thing for your command voice. The things he has experienced and survived, perhaps have made him more vulnerable, more in need of someone to take control for him. To take care of him as you said. You are the only person he responds to in this way, you are the only person he has ever trusted implicitly with his entire being." Mycroft sighed and dropped his gaze for a moment before looking up at John again. "You're the only person he has allowed to get close to him. Whether he realizes it, consciously or not, I believe Sherlock needs you to be for him what I have been for you." Mycroft was silent then, allowing John to mull those thoughts over. It was certainly a change and would require both of their understanding and agreement if it was to be the means of helping Sherlock.

John finally spoke, "I think I understand how you think we can help him, at least right now, but I can't physically dominate him at the moment. I'm still too dizzy to maintain it for long, plus I think it's the wrong move to make right now."

"I don't think you'll have to. Once he knows you are okay and you are here, he isn't going to want you out of his sight most likely. He may be amenable to letting me assist him, if it is at your command and you remain present. I can help him bathe and dress and you can dress his ankles and wrists when we're done. It will at least be a start and will only require your voice and your presence. Beyond today, what Sherlock needs afterwards, we will simply have to work it out as we go. What do you think?"

"I think we can make it work for today. I will know better once I actually see the state Sherlock is in." John did not miss the slight grimace crossing Mycroft's face and feared he would need to steel his nerves for the worse when he finally saw Sherlock. "You realize medications are going to be necessary, at least for a while. The challenge will be getting him to agree and finding what will help him without affecting his mental abilities."

"Yes. I understand. I have already begun to search for some type of therapist Sherlock may actually work with. But we need to deal with here and now to start with. Are we on the same page then?"

John rubbed a finger across his upper lip as he considered what lay before them. "Yes, we're both on the same page, I believe. Lets get in there and see about Sherlock. I'm sure he's been in torment long enough." John started to roll himself away from the small table as Mycroft collected the laptop and stood, but he stopped to address Mycroft once more. "My, I don't know what I'm going to see or what state Sherlock is in. I am sure I will not be happy with what I find, but we are here to help Sherlock, together. The only thing I am going to ask you up front is to trust me. I won't know what may work with Sherlock until we get in there, okay? So just trust me and try to go with whatever we have to do to make it work."

Mycroft considered his words, somewhat uncomfortable with the possibilities, but finally nodded. "I do trust you John. Sherlock needs you, I know that without a doubt. Whatever you need to do, I will support you." John gave a sharp nod and continued out of the waiting area and down the hall. They approached Sherlock's room in silence, ignoring the looks from the staff as they focused completely on the man they both cared for.

Mycroft held the door and let John go ahead, allowing himself a moment and a deep breath before he followed. John was already at the bedside when he entered, speaking softly to Sherlock who still did not acknowledge either of them. Mycroft could still hear occasional mumbling and the slight shake of dark curls, but couldn't make out just what Sherlock was saying this time. He was startled when he heard the heart-wrenching sound of his brother crying, followed swiftly by John calling him over.

"Help me." John had locked the wheelchair, let down the bed rail nearest him, and appeared to be getting up carefully. When Mycroft tried to protest, John cut him off, "I have to be closer to him Mycroft. He has to feel me physically here or I won't be able to get through to him. He thinks he's apologizing to my fucking ghost for killing me! Now help me up!" Mycroft wasted no further time, sliding his arm around John's waist to support him as he stood and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He noticed that John had released the wrist restraint closest to him and Sherlock's arm lay limp across his abdomen now while he cried softly. Once John was sitting securely on the bed beside Sherlock, Mycroft stepped back only to have John whisper. "My, release the other restraints please. Just be careful, go slow." He moved to do as John asked while he observed the two men carefully; watching Sherlock for signs of attack and John for signs of fainting.

{*} {*} {*}

John had been mortified when he saw the state Sherlock was in, his jaw tightening painfully. He ignored the blood and emesis, everything else was pushed aside as he began to speak to Sherlock. He rested his hand on Sherlock's thigh without even a flicker of notice or response. "Sherlock? Sherlock, it's John. I'm here to help again, okay. Will you let me do that? Sherlock?" The pale face and dark curls shook and John strained to make out the low mumbling speech coming from his friend.

Sherlock heard the voice but knew it couldn't be real. He saw what he had done to John, he couldn't be here now. "It's not true. I know you can't be here with me and it's all my fault. I'm sorry, John. If it makes you feel better, Mycroft is punishing me for killing you….it's only right. I deserve it." The voice didn't stop and Sherlock couldn't fight his sorrow at what he had done when that voice just kept on. He closed his eyes as fresh tears began to fall, "I'm so sorry John….I never wanted to hurt you. You never knew it but I loved you, more than life itself. You were everything and I destroyed you."

John listened in horror to the very thoughts which plagued Sherlock's mind, and with bittersweet pleasure, he heard the declaration of love he had never expected from this man. So far nothing he had tried had reached the black void where Sherlock had mentally hidden himself in order to cope with what he had done and the outcome he assumed. John could only watch as the brilliant man he loved dissolved into heartbroken sobs. Softly cursing to himself, he set about saving the consulting detective. It was going to take much more to reach Sherlock and he was not comfortable using a more dominant approach when Sherlock had been forcibly restrained and tormented.

As soon as he was sitting and his head didn't feel like it was going to suddenly explode, he assigned Mycroft the other restraints and turned his attention back to Sherlock. He reached both hands up, cupping the firm jaw and stubbled cheeks in his palms as he brushed away tears with his thumbs. He turned Sherlock's head so that he was facing him directly but the stare was still unfocused. "Sherlock, look at me please? It's John. I'm really here, I'm here to help you. Can you feel me? Feel me touching you, Sherlock, I'm real. You did not kill me." John watched the dull eyes track over his face but still remain lifeless, the recognition he was looking for still not manifest. "Sherlock, you've got to come back to me so I can help. I was only injured, I will be alright and I am here for you now." John pulled a small towel from the nearby table and wet it in the cup of water at the bedside. He used it to wipe gently over Sherlock's face, hoping to rouse him that way. Yet the blank stare remained. John was beginning to feel a bit desperate. Mycroft stood by waiting and John was still getting nowhere.  _"Sherlock! Please?!"_  He leaned forward until he was pressing his forehead against Sherlock's brow as he tried to think what else could possibly pull him back. He shook his head slowly against Sherlock's and whispered softly, "Please Sherlock, come back for me. I still need you too. I love you." He pulled back, the words strengthening his resolve as he looked over the bland face. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes and I expect you to come back to me." He pressed against the pale brow once more, speaking gently, "You don't get to leave me again, you hear me? I won't have it." Then, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he tilted his head and brought his lips to Sherlock's for the first time ever. He ignored everything else and focused on making a connection with Sherlock, moving his lips slowly and tenderly without pressing for more. He let one hand slide up into those dark curls while the other still cupped one cheek. He pulled back long enough to whisper urgently, "Come  _On_ , Sherlock.  _Please!_ " Then he moved forward again.

{*} {*} {*}

The voice had changed, Sherlock thought. Somewhere in the shadows where he hid, the sound of John's voice pleading with him struck a chord. While his mind clung desperately to the darkness still trying to hide from the trauma of the world, Sherlock could not ignore John. John needed him. He said so didn't he? He even said he loved him, surely Sherlock was just dreaming then. But… Lestrade had said… he had the sense of moving closer, moving towards wherever he thought John was. He became aware of warmth, a body nearby, warm hands holding his head and cheek but not holding him down. Then he heard it again, very clearly this time, John's voice calling… begging for him.  _"Please!"_  The voice said please so softly and urgently, Sherlock had to answer, had to respond, but he was prevented by the gentlest pressure on his lips. Warm lips pressed against his own, dry but soft and so, so gentle. This had to be a dream and he hoped he would never wake again. His eyes had fallen closed as he let himself simply feel John's lips against his own. And then he let himself do as he always wished, he responded.

John wanted to pull back and whoop for joy when he felt the tentative response of Sherlock's lips against his own. Instead, he adjusted his grip and pressed himself closer to Sherlock, hopefully to coax more out of him. He got more than he expected when a soft moan escaped from Sherlock and the once limp hands came up to grip his robe, pulling him forward against the lean chest while those sinful lips pressed back, moving against his mouth with a hunger he was not expecting. He couldn't stop the voice in his head that reminded him of all the times he had wanted exactly this, wanted to do  _this_  with Sherlock. For a few moments he forgot where they were and what he was trying to do and let himself relax into the kiss, ignoring the enthusiastic vote of approval from his nether regions at the same time. And he might have stayed that way too… without a not so subtle reminder.

{*} {*} {*}

Mycroft had done as John asked, then stood back and watched intently. He could tell John wasn't making any progress and was growing worried. He watched, as John grew more desperate, heard his words as he sought to bring Sherlock back to them. He watched, as John pressed his forehead to Sherlock's and shook his head, the fear that he would not be able to reach him this time plain to see. Mycroft was therefore only mildly surprised when he saw John press his lips to Sherlock's. If he were a lesser man he would be disturbed to see his fiance kissing his brother. However, he knew each of these men intimately and understood what they stood to lose if John was not successful. He felt the tension mount when John pulled away, pleading quietly with Sherlock before trying again. It was a tremendous relief when he saw Sherlock's arms begin to move. He waited for John to realize he had succeeded and pull back, instead the soft moans he soon heard as the kissing continued, started to become a bit uncomfortable. But when he allowed himself to look frankly at John and Sherlock lost in kissing each other and felt a suspicious twitch of arousal in his groin, that was his cue to draw the line. He cleared his throat loudly to at least remind John that he was not alone here, calling his name for extra measure. "John?"

John came crashing back to reality quickly, pulling back to look Sherlock in the eyes. "Sherlock? Are you with me now?" He couldn't stop his hand from stroking the cheek under his palm as he searched the face before him.

Sherlock tried to cling to John as he pulled away, unwilling to lose the connection of his lips. But John was talking again, a calloused palm caressed his cheek. He knew he would have to face the world again, but John was there. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at John, inches away from him. "I am here John," he answered simply. He regretted speaking when John removed his hands and let them rest in his lap. He blinked slowly, glancing around to take in his appearance and the room, he tensed when he saw Mycroft, uncertain of his intentions here.

John followed Sherlock's eyes and understood his thoughts when he tensed up so suddenly. "Shh...Sherlock, look at me." When the iridescent eyes focused on him once more, he continued. "Sherlock, Mycroft is here to help, alright? He is sorry for what he did, for how he handled things, but we're here and we're going to make it better now. Do you understand? You will have to let Mycroft help too, because I can't do it all myself just now." Sherlock darted his eyes over to Mycroft, noting his absent jacket and rolled up sleeves as well as the truly penitent expression on his face. His eyes trailed back to John as he nodded quietly. His hand drifted up until he could run his hand gently over John's scalp, pausing at the small wince when he passed over the dressing. "I hurt you. I'm sorry."

John merely nodded, "It's okay Sherlock. It wasn't your fault. I forgive you. Will you let us help you clean up and dress your wounds now?"

Sherlock looked down at his bloody wrists, only now noticing, then looked back at John. "You… you will be okay?"

John smiled warmly and nodded. "I'll be fine, Sherlock. No worse than any other concussion I have had before." He waved Mycroft over as he patted Sherlock's leg, "Now, let's get you cleaned up shall we, then maybe something to eat and drink, hmm?"

Sherlock only nodded his assent, still not wholly present but getting there slowly. He watched as Mycroft helped John carefully back into the wheelchair so he could move away from the bed. But he still couldn't stop the wary glance as Mycroft offered his hand to help him up. A stern reminder from Captain Watson soon had him moving, however. He was sure he would have resented the help if he was more himself, but he was still disoriented and weaker than he would have thought, so he accepted the support as he relieved himself and prepared to wash. As promised, John stayed near, rolling to the outside of the bathroom while Mycroft helped rid him of the soiled clothes and assisted him into the hot shower. Neither of them were sure if Sherlock could bathe himself without falling over, but Mycroft stayed close beside him, water spray or not.

Once Sherlock was in the shower, John called the nurses in to get the bed cleaned and remade with fresh linens. He also requested a meal and fluids for Sherlock since he didn't even know when he had last eaten or drank something. He was back outside the bathroom door waiting with clean hospital pajamas by the time Sherlock was finished. Mycroft helped him dress and guided him to a nearby chair. One at a time, John pulled his hands into his lap to treat the wounds. Once he was done with his hands, he rolled the wheelchair back and did the same to the ankles before directing him to the food and drinks. Sherlock felt self-conscious eating alone, but John and Mycroft both assured him they had eaten earlier, so he finally tucked into his meal. He had not realized how hungry and thirsty he was until he began. He cleaned his plate, drained a cup of coffee and two cups of water before he felt somewhat sated. Only then did he feel like he could face what came next. He looked expectantly at John and Mycroft, "Well… what now?"

Mycroft took the lead with a glance at John, "Well, now we wait for the doctor. Then we will  _all_  discuss the best way to help you. Medications are very likely and we may need to work out some kind of therapy." Sherlock snorted softly and rolled his eyes, this seemed to be his default setting for dealing with things he didn't want to hear from his brother, but he had heard just the same.

John reached over and wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's hand, "Sherlock, this isn't optional. You have to get help. Do you want Mrs. Hudson to be at risk? Do you want something else to happen?"

Sherlock shook his head guiltily. "No John. I don't want to hurt anyone else. I have already killed too much… caused enough harm. I can't put the people I love the most at risk too." None of the standard treatments had helped him during his addiction, but he was willing to try anything to keep John safe. If it was possible, he would find a way to make this work. He glanced at John's hand still holding his before he met his doctor's gaze, "I will try John. I will try my best."

John smiled warmly, "Well, we should be fine then because your best is the finest in the world. And that is all any of us," he gestured pointedly between himself and Mycroft, "can possibly ask of you. But you won't have to do this alone, we are going to be with you every step of the way. That is why all three of us are going to talk to the doctor, together. We know you best of anybody in the world. We will work out how to make this work for you. We'll figure out how to help, alright? You have to give us a chance to do that." Sherlock knew John was serious and even Mycroft appeared sincere for once.

"Alright."

John coaxed him along with a warm smile, "Good. We'll work it out, you'll see. Now, however, I think you need some real rest." Sherlock tried to roll his eyes at that but John wasn't having any of it. "No, you won't get out of it that easily. I'm your personal doctor and I say you need rest. So come on, back to bed with you."

Sherlock would never admit to either of them, but he was exhausted after the physical and emotional upheaval of the past few hours. Still, he rose carefully from his chair, making sure his legs felt steady underneath him before he made his way back to bed. He slid into the fresh made bed and lay back, pulling the covers up only to be surprised when John reached over from the bedside to tuck the covers in around him. It wasn't something John had ever done before and Sherlock couldn't remember being tucked in since he was very small. Still, the gesture made him feel...cared for, protected in a way he hadn't felt in months. It felt like he could finally allow himself to lower the walls he hid behind and there would be someone else to keep him safe. He gave John a small smile as he closed his eyes.

John sat by the bed, a quiet shush coming to his lips as his fingers combed softly through Sherlock's tousled curls. The soothing, steadying touch grounding Sherlock firmly in the present with him as he drifted off. The adrenaline and focus that had kept John going to care for Sherlock was fading fast now, and his own injury was making itself known again. He was rubbing his head steadily, feeling more tired by the minute, when he felt Mycroft's warm hand on his shoulder.

"You did very well, John. I know you were worried, but you were able to do it finally."

John glanced up, looking sheepish and speaking softly, "I… uhm, I'm sorry about that My. It just seemed… right. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." He was silenced with fingers squeezing his shoulder as warm lips met his in a chaste kiss.

Mycroft pulled away with an intimate smile just for John. "It's okay John. You did what you needed to do to help Sherlock, didn't you?" John hesitated before nodding. "And you did ask me to trust you, which I do, most implicitly. You have nothing to apologize for, so don't let this worry you."

John was reminded once more how grateful he was for Mycroft, for his unfailing understanding and support. "I love you, My."

Mycroft smiled again, even as he noted the slight wince and tightness around John's lips and eyes. "And I love you, John. Now, I think we best get you back to your own bed to rest a bit, the strain is showing."

John shook his head carefully, "No My, we don't know when the doctor will be in and I want to be here to see him. It's important for us all to be on the same page."

Mycroft started to roll John away from the bed despite John's protests. "I can have you returned when the doctor gets here. I'll even promise not to let him do anything until you arrive. But you clearly need rest. Now stop being difficult."

John was still trying to argue when they both heard the panicked voice from the bed.

"No, please! Please stay. Please," Sherlock's eyes plead with Mycroft to understand, "I need John here. I don't want to be alone. Please?"

Mycroft could see it, could see the fear in his brother's eyes that he would drift into that distant place again if he was left alone. His need to care for John warred with his need to help his brother. He met John's eyes and saw the concern there as well. "Sherlock, I understand but John is still recovering too. He needs to rest to be able to help you also."

Sherlock scrambled to scoot over in his hospital bed, pulling the covers back as he did. "He can rest here. He can stay… we'll both rest." Sherlock's face was as anxious as it was earnest as he waited. "Please."

Mycroft started to dispute Sherlock's claim, only to be stopped by John's hand on his where it rested just behind his shoulder, still on the handle of the wheelchair. "My. I can stay. It's alright." Mycroft studied John's determined expression a moment, then silently acquiesced, rolling him back to the bedside. He helped John slip off his robe and slide carefully into the bed next to Sherlock.

Sherlock wasted no time turning to his left side, curling into John and resting his head on his shoulder.

John could only give a soft snort of laughter as he readjusted, turning onto his right side and placing his arm around Sherlock, cradling them together securely in the bed. Sherlock sighed and was asleep again in minutes. John raised his eyes to Mycroft, still standing uncertainly at the bedside.

"Are you okay, My? Is this alright?"

Mycroft shrugged uncharacteristically, "If it wasn't alright, I would have argued further. It is plainly necessary for Sherlock and will let you rest until the doctor arrives. An adequate solution for all, I would say."

John granted Mycroft one of those beautiful smiles saved just for him. "Thank you, love. Why don't you pull up that chair and hold my hand while I close my eyes for a bit."

Mycroft returned the smile and leaned over to kiss John warmly. "You're always welcome, love. And of course I'll stay."

John had already closed his eyes and dozed off by the time Mycroft dimmed the lights and pulled the chair up to the bedside. He took John's left hand in his, and prepared to wait.

The doctor arrived an hour and a half later to find the three men sleeping.

John's head now rested on Sherlock's curls while the detective's long fingers spread out over the soldier's heart. Mycroft's head was pillowed against John's thigh, mouth open and slack with sleep while John's hand now rested at the back of his neck, his thumb lying against the steady pulse in the carotid artery.

It was not a montage the doctor saw everyday but the three men seemed… right somehow. He slipped quietly out of the room to see his other patients first, and let the three men get the sleep they obviously needed for just a while longer.

 **Author's Note:**  I feel like I am Always having to apologize for taking forever on my updates. But to be fair, this story is particularly challenging. My poor beta  **Ireland** **Spades**  even complained of this chapter exhausting her too. :( I appreciate all she does for me on Every piece I work on and only hope I return as much to her as well. Go read her Fabulous work and give her a boost, not just because I NEED HER but because she writes Great stories! ;) :-D I will apologize for the angst. It is absolutely necessary for the boys to get through this so they can start to sort things out and make each other happy. ;) :-D All my rare pair followers, Please Enjoy! And Thank You so much for sticking with me along the way! Sincerely, Cynthia


	8. Chapter 8

John was released later that day. The doctor dryly commenting there was no point keeping him as a patient when they couldn't keep him in his room. He had stayed with Sherlock religiously throughout the day, sparing only thirty minutes for his discharge exam and paperwork. Even then, he only went with Mycroft's assurance he would stay with Sherlock in the meantime. They were still waiting for the doctor to make rounds and John wanted to be there when he showed.

Sherlock had been more subdued since his return to cognizance. He sat quietly in one of the chairs near the window. Truthfully, he wanted to be as far away from the bed, and it's restraints, as possible. He couldn't actually see anything out of the hospital window and he wouldn't risk the chaos of his Mind Palace at the moment, so he observed Mycroft instead. Remarkably, he still wore the same suit as yesterday, still rumpled and creased from his night in hospital chairs. Sherlock had to give him credit for steadfastness. He narrowed his gaze and saw relief in his brother's eyes but a certain tension remaining in his shoulders. With a jolt, he recognized that an air of uncertainty surrounded his elder. That practically never happened. Mycroft was always certain of every move he made, every outcome. Sherlock found the notion disconcerting and continued his study to try and determine the cause. It did not take him very long to narrow the issue to the personal realm versus professional. Mycroft was always on top of his game when it came to what his position required. Personal only included Mycroft, John, and himself. So what was it that still had his fastidious brother feeling unsure? He hoped his return had begun to sow dissention between his brother and his  _fiance_ ; more commonly known as the only man Sherlock had ever wanted.

Mycroft tolerated the intense scrutiny with his usual aplomb, well used to his brother's methods and not inclined to provoke him. It would not pay for the two of them to be going at it when John returned. At the thought of his fiance, he glanced at his watch and unconsciously turned his face to the door.

"Give him back to me."

He froze. Surely he heard that incorrectly. He returned his gaze to his brother, perfectly placid except for one eyebrow raised in question. "Pardon me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I do wish you wouldn't make me repeat myself. You know how much I hate it." He laid his hands, fingers intertwined, in his lap before squaring his shoulders and continuing. "I said, give… John… back… to me," he spoke slowly and carefully just to annoy Mycroft.

Mycroft could not stop the sharp rise of his eyebrows. "Sherlock! Even with your woeful lack of knowledge regarding relationships, you should be aware that it simply doesn't work that way." He met Sherlock's sudden glare with his own until the younger broke the stare and glanced away. "John and I are in a relationship, Sherlock. We are engaged to be married. I can't just sever our bond and turn him over to you like an object. I am astounded you even thought you could ask that of me."

Sherlock refused to look at Mycroft again. He had to at least try, it was not beyond the realm of possibility to think their relationship was of the more superficial variety, based on sex or some odd power fetish. His brother's words only served to shake the feeble hope he was holding to and he leapt to his feet and snapped angrily.

"But you don't need him like I do!"

Mycroft remained silent, taking in Sherlock's state and giving him time to calm from his outburst. When his brother returned to his seat, Mycroft spoke quietly, "I don't? I see. Well, in the first place Sherlock, you are not in a place to judge what I need from John." He wasn't even going to mention John needing him, because that would verge too close to their private relationship. "And second, why do  _you_  need him? Why is John so important to  _you_?" He tried to put aside his long held suspicions and listen to what Sherlock would actually tell him. The silence stretched into minutes and Mycroft began to doubt that he would get an answer at all when his brother finally spoke. His voice so small and quiet, Mycroft had to strain to make out his words.

"I need him… to keep me sane." Sherlock would not look at Mycroft, staring intently at his lap.

That was nowhere near what Mycroft anticipated hearing. He studied his brother carefully before his next statement, noting the faint tremor in the carefully clasped hands. "I should very much like to know what you mean by that, brother. However, in the interest of full disclosure, is there anything else you want to tell me regarding John, as pertains to you personally?"

Sherlock knew his brother suspected the truth and it only irritated him more. "Do I want to tell you that I love John… that I have always loved him?" Mycroft only cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "You've suspected that for years. Why should I provide confirmation of what you already know? What exactly is it that you expect me to divulge as a matter of full disclosure? I am in no position to argue with you but what are you after here? What do you hope to gain? Extra points with John? I must say that is troubling if you feel you have to go to such measures for approval from your own fiance." Mycroft knew Sherlock was simply baiting him into an argument to avoid discussing his feelings. It was a tried and true Sherlock technique but this was too important to fall into old traps.

"This is not about getting approval from John, Sherlock. It is about helping you. You are going to have to be honest with both John and I if we are going to help you through this together. I know you expected something more when you returned home. A different life for yourself and John. I simply want you to admit to yourself and to me, what it is you wanted then, even still want now. You will have to face the reality of your desires as well as the current situation, if we are all to move forward, Sherlock. That is all that I am after here."

Sherlock looked at his brother, slightly puzzled not to detect any artifice or ulterior motive in his brother's speech or manner. Could he trust what Mycroft said? Could it be as simple as telling him the truth and moving on. He realized he had few other options before him so cautiously he forced himself give honesty with Mycroft a try. "You want me to admit to you that I want him all to myself, that I want him in physical ways I have never even experienced? You want to know that I am jealous everytime I see you touch him in any way, or he chooses to be alone with you instead of by my side where he has always belonged? No." His nostrils flared with his frustration. "These are practically the last things I have ever wanted to admit to you, Mycroft." Softly he added, "I've barely admitted them to myself since I returned." Sherlock drew in a long deep breath, making the effort to calm himself before speaking again. "Nevertheless, it is all true. You may mock me if you wish, I have nothing else to lose."

Mycroft accepted the confirmation of his beliefs without a word, far more concerned about his brother's mental and emotional state than a few moments of petty gloating. In the jumble that had become their lives, he thought it was high time to move past such things. For several long minutes, he reviewed his brother's words before settling on what he deemed the most important point. "You said that you need John to keep you sane, can you explain to me  _why_  it is that you feel that way?"

Sherlock's head snapped up, his eyes wide in surprise and his lips parted with unspoken words as he looked at Mycroft. He had not anticipated the calm acceptance, nor did he expect for his brother to focus on such a critical point in lieu of teasing him about his feelings. Perhaps his brother had changed, or rather John had had as positive an influence on Mycroft as he had had on him. He considered carefully and gathered his thoughts; how could he explain to his brother the depth of his need for John? Mycroft was the one man who could understand the organisation of his Mind Palace, and perhaps grasp the state it was in at the moment. That was, if Sherlock could just give him the right information about the past without overloading the delicate balance of the present.

Mycroft waited patiently, his brow furrowed as he saw his brother struggling with his thoughts. It was so unlike the Sherlock he had always known and it worried him. He did not push, however, instinctively sensing the danger in their exchange. Haltingly, Sherlock tried to begin explaining about his time away; to explain how his feelings and memory of John became a buffer… a safe haven he was working towards, a goal to focus on in order to protect his sanity. But trying to formulate an answer for Mycroft was pushing him far too close to the memories he was trying so hard to avoid.

Mycroft calmly waited for his brother's words. He watched his brilliant, expressive brother struggling to speak, his mouth opened as if beginning only to snap closed again. He watched as Sherlock slowly deteriorated before his eyes. It started with faint tremors, which increased in strength, until Sherlock clutched his hands so tightly the knuckles blanched white. His breathing had picked up and Mycroft could see the mounting anxiety as sea foam eyes met blue, wide and panicked. He was startled to say the least and feared Sherlock would hyperventilate, or worse, without intervention. He had a sudden flashback of the day he had confronted John and the panic attack he had had then; the current situation resolved into stunning clarity, different man now but similar need. He had risen from his seat unconsciously and moved towards his brother. He moved behind him carefully, not wanting to overwhelm the panicky genius by looming over him or crowding him in any way. Long fingers came to rest on the bony shoulder to ground him in the present, while he lifted his other hand to offer the kind of comfort he had been unable to do since they were children. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair and shushed him quietly like he had when bullies taunted the young genius long ago.

"Shh...it's okay Sherlock. Don't think about it any longer. You don't have to tell me now if it is too difficult. There will be plenty of time to discuss it some other time...when you're ready. Shush now, calm down." It was a testament to how bad off Sherlock was that he allowed the touch, turning his head to the side and resting his cheek against his brother's abdomen. And there they stayed in silence, Mycroft offering and Sherlock accepting all the support that was needed. Mycroft stared out of the window, gentling Sherlock quietly as he calmed down. His thumb rubbed slowly back and forth, along the nape of the long neck while he continued stroking and smoothing the dark curls. Sherlock did not push him away, nor even speak. He sighed and accepted the comfort for what it was, turning his mind away from the terrifying memories that threatened to pull him under again.

That is exactly how John found them when he returned. He eyed the brothers briefly but opted to say nothing. The intimate affection such a rare thing that he did not want to interfere. He took a chair across from Sherlock, reading over the papers he had brought with him. After a few moments, Mycroft released his brother and joined him, neither brother commenting on the interaction, nor what had brought it about. Their conversation turned to mundane discussions as they waited for the doctor. Even without knowing exactly what had happened, John could sense some of the tension had eased between all three of them. That could only be a good thing.

{*} {*} {*}

Getting through the doctor's visit was its own challenge. Sherlock refused to let the doctor touch him when John was right there and perfectly capable of seeing to his exam. John didn't know if this particular doctor had dealt with Sherlock before, but he was suspiciously compliant when compromise became necessary. Sherlock would only allow John to give him an exam, stating he could narrate his findings while the other doctor observed. John was certain the good doctor had not anticipated spending the rest of his afternoon with a certain difficult patient. With a frustrated wave, he motioned John to proceed. Thus they were able to get through the exam without further incident. Then they had to discuss history, the current problem, and treatment. John was afraid that Sherlock would explode if he had to rehash his recent behaviors for this man, but thankfully, it appeared the doctor actually read the chart. It included statements from John and Mycroft pertaining to recent events including Sherlock's supposed death, his actual mission, and his return. It soon became apparent that Mycroft had provided the doctor with the video footage from the flat and he already knew the room was under surveillance. So the doctor was well informed and prepared to help in any way possible. If Sherlock would let him.

Sherlock flat refused any form of anti-depressant to combat his PTSD, though he knew that John had taken similar drugs when they first met. "They slow me down, make my mind too sluggish," he declared. "I can't do the Work like that." John could understand the concern and prompted the doctor to move on to other options. In this instance, Sherlock's vast knowledge worked against them as he knew exhaustive details about the drugs the doctor suggested. It took nearly an hour but they narrowed it down to a mild anti-anxiety drug that would have few adverse effects. When the doctor brought up therapy, Mycroft intervened before things got ugly.

"I am still in the process of securing an adequate therapist for my brother, but I can assure you that he will be receiving therapy when he leaves here." Sherlock snorted loudly and rolled his eyes while the doctor made notes on his chart.

That covered the basics for now. Sherlock was not pleased when the doctor informed him that he would be kept for observation for two to three more days to be certain he had no difficulties with the medication or sudden relapses in behavior. Before he could even start his tirade, John reminded him that Mrs. Hudson arrived home in the morning and he and Mycroft would have to have a long chat with her before he could come home. Unfortunately Sherlock knew they were right, so he simply sulked instead.  _What was he supposed to do here in the meantime?_

John knew that look. That was the look that got the walls shot or fire set to the kitchen. They would have to come up with a plan to keep the impatient detective out of trouble during his enforced stay. He risked a glance at Mycroft and saw that he was thinking the same thing. John risked broaching the topic of them going home carefully. "Sherlock, I really need to head home to clean up and rest in a proper bed tonight. And I am certain Mycroft would appreciate getting out of that suit. Do you think you will be okay alone tonight… without us here?"

Sherlock felt the instant surge of anxiety again but suppressed it quickly for John's sake. It was his fault John was injured in the first place, and that was the reason he had to be here. He could do it, he'd be fine. If he could just occupy his mind.

Mycroft wasn't fooled by Sherlock's acting this time and both he and John knew the dangers of an unoccupied genius. "With assurances of your very best behavior, Sherlock, I have gotten permission for you to have the laptop and the charging cord for the night." That perked his brother up immediately and he was already reaching for the laptop. Mycroft stopped him with a hand pressed firmly over the case. " _ANY_ , misconduct on your part, however will result in removal of the charging cord. And should this not prove effective in curtailing your bad behavior, then the nurses have my explicit permission to remove the laptop." Sherlock sat back in a huff, arms crossed and lips pursed in a visible pout. John struggled not to laugh at the overgrown toddler he loved, while Mycroft only sharpened his glare and continued. "Are we clear, Sherlock?"

Sherlock pouted for just a moment longer before relenting, "Fine. Yes, we are clear Mycroft. I shall be on my best behavior. Now may I have the laptop?"

Mycroft removed his hand and watched as Sherlock quickly lost himself in data. John had stepped up next to him and rested one hand on his lower back. He reached his free hand across to Sherlock's shoulder, prompting him to look up, "Promise me you will try to get some sleep as well, yeah? You need it just as much as we do." Sherlock didn't say anything but gave John a small nod. It was enough for John, the agreement to try more than he could often get. With everything apparently settled for the night, they made to leave. "We'll talk with Mrs. Hudson in the morning and then I'll be back to see about you. Is there anything else you might need from the flat, or anywhere else for that matter?"

Sherlock didn't even bother to look up this time but he did reply. "Tea I can stand to drink and food that is actually edible would be peachy," his favorite fake smile plastered across his face in the glow of the computer screen. "Otherwise, no. Nothing I haven't already asked for." John gave a nod and turned to grab his things and go, assuming they were done. He stopped when the next sentence came, however. "Thank you, John. And you, Mycroft… for taking care of me, even when I make it difficult." John glanced over at Mycroft and saw he was just as surprised as him. With the smallest of shrugs, Mycroft left the answer to John. "Sherlock, we will always take care of you. Because we…" he wanted to say 'We love you' but wasn't sure if now was the best time. So he quickly changed his phrase to one of equal importance in his eyes, "Because we are family, Sherlock. And that's what families do, take care of each other, even if it's difficult."

Sherlock didn't look up again, but they both saw the small dip of his head and the subtle easing of tension in his narrow shoulders and knew the point was made. With a last goodbye they left, leaving Sherlock to occupy himself for the night. Both of them hoping all would be well.

{*} {*} {*}

The first thing John did was head for a hot shower. He always hated that half clean feeling he had after any hospital stay. Mycroft was arranging for dinner with the staff, when John stuck his head back in, "No reason we can't both get clean at the same time is there?"

Mycroft smiled and shook his head, "No reason at all. Let me finish here and I will be up momentarily. You go ahead and get started." John merely smiled brightly and winked before resuming his trek up the stairs. He was stripped and enjoying the pulsating heat of the shower massage in a matter of minutes, waiting for Mycroft to join him. Mycroft had finished his arrangements quickly, and was soon upstairs and striping out of his suit. He lay the tailored pieces across one of the chairs, he would have to give special instructions to the dry cleaners after wearing it for nearly two full days. He didn't bother putting on his robe, he just walked into the bathroom nude to join John. A John who smiled appreciatively when he stepped into the steamy shower and moved to let him under the spray as well. Mycroft hummed as the hot water pounded over stiff muscles. But the hum grew louder when John wrapped strong arms around his waist and a sandy head lay against his chest. Mycroft's long arms instinctively wrapping around the smaller man.

"It feels like forever since I've been in your arms," John sighed. Mycroft placed a chaste kiss to John's brow then another to his lips as he turned his face up towards him.

"It feels twice as long to me, love. Far too much has happened in a very short time. However, we shall discuss everything tomorrow sometime, for tonight we both need rest." John hummed against the chest before him while letting his hands slide down the long back and over pert buttocks, playfully cupping one in each hand. Mycroft smiled and kissed him again, "Now there shall be none of that. You have been injured and haven't had nearly the rest you need." John pulled quite the face pouting so prettily that Mycroft began to wish he could kiss the pout away, but reason prevailed. "Now, we are going to wash, eat a hot meal, and then we are going to bed." John flashed him his brightest smile and a cheeky wink as he squeezed Mycroft's buttocks firmly forcing a laugh from the tall man. "John Watson! I am serious." He reached behind him and removed the calloused hands from his ass. "We shall get into our bed and sleep. And I mean sleep, nothing else." John finally gave up the tease and reached for the soap.

"Fine, spoilsport. But only if you promise to make it up to me, sooner rather than later." He then turned his attention to the task of getting clean.

Mycroft gave him a small smirk, "You are quite the shrewd negotiator, John. The sooner the better for me as well. But that's not to say we can't enjoy our shower together. Correct?" He reached for the shampoo and John merely nodded with a smile as long fingers began to shampoo his hair and massage his scalp. Mycroft was gentle around the healing gash; attuned for any indicators of pain or discomfort. John returned the favor by washing the lean body before him.

Soon enough they were clean and dry, happily ensconced in warm pajamas and sitting down to a hearty meal. They ended up laughing as they both were trading yawns across the table before they had finished with dinner. There were no arguments to be had as they made their way back upstairs and readied themselves for bed. They climbed into bed together, John quickly finding his favorite spot in Mycroft's arms with his head on the firm chest. In no time both men were asleep.

{*} {*} {*}

John woke with a small jerk. He raised his head and glanced at the clock, he'd only been asleep an hour? He glanced at Mycroft and saw he was fast asleep, lying on his back with one hand resting on his abdomen, rising and falling steadily with his breathing. John had shifted off of Mycroft's chest at some point like he usually did; he wasn't even sure what had woken him. He didn't have the panicky feeling that nightmares usually left behind. He was still tired however, he stifled a yawn as he rolled away from Mycroft and settled back down to sleep.

{*} {*} {*}

One moment he was asleep and the next he wasn't. Taking a deep breath, Mycroft scanned the room for trouble. John's back was to him but he could tell he was asleep, his breathing slow and deep. He was used to nights like this when there was a crisis brewing and he couldn't keep his mind still long enough to rest. However, there were no glaring problems calling for his attention out in the world tonight. No, the only things troubling him just now were of an extremely personal nature. A glance at his watch indicated it had only been three hours since they went to sleep. He really did need more rest, tomorrow would be trying enough without having to battle fatigue. He turned to spoon up behind John, tucked his right hand beneath his cheek and closed his eyes, determined to sleep more.

{*} {*} {*}

John opened his eyes to stare at the unyielding gloom of the bedroom. He had been dreaming about Sherlock again. He was beginning to realize why he was having trouble sleeping. He couldn't stop worrying about Sherlock and how he was doing alone tonight… well truthfully, how he was doing on any given night. He breathed out a soft sigh, hoping he wasn't keeping Mycroft from resting too. Poor Mycroft, he was so good to him and so supportive. He appreciated his understanding about the whole situation with Sherlock, but he also couldn't help feeling it was unfair to put him through all of this.

"Can't sleep either?"

The soft voice startled John. He rolled over to face Mycroft in the dark, "No. Can't stop thinking about Sherlock. You?"

"Mmm, the same. I have all kinds of things to catch up on today at work but all I can think about is Sherlock, and you, and us. Even poor Mrs. Hudson is occupying a spot in my thoughts tonight."

"Blimey! That's saying something coming from you." Mycroft made an indistinct sound of agreement before they both lay silent, occupied with their own thoughts. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, John propped his head up on his palm and spoke, "My?" The ginger head turned towards his voice. "Do you want to tell me what that was about, between you and Sherlock… back at the hospital?"

"Well… that may take some explaining, but I do think we should talk about it. It all started when Sherlock told me to give you back to him." Mycroft waited for John's reaction, knowing there would be one.

"He WHAT?!" John sat up fully, looking down at Mycroft like he had two heads. "I can not believe… you know what? Scratch that. I can absolutely believe that he said that to you." John thought that statement alone didn't fit with the scene he had witnessed, however. "So… what did you say? What led to… that?"

Mycroft sat up as well, reaching to turn on a bedside lamp. Then he told John everything, the whole exchange including Sherlock's confessions and anxiety attack when he tried to explain about his time away and needing John.

John was left shaking his head slightly, "Wow. I mean, that is a lot to take in, but I do appreciate you sharing it with me. I think it will be very important for both of us to keep each other abreast of anything going on with Sherlock if we are going to help him to the best of our combined abilities."

Mycroft nodded before continuing, "You know all of those reports we kept getting?" John's nod of affirmation was all he needed before continuing. "I suspect that those reports were just the tip of the iceberg, if you will. The barest scratch at the surface of what Sherlock actually experienced. Even with therapy, I'm not sure when he will ever be able to discuss those events safely."

John couldn't stop the shudder at that thought; those reports were disturbing enough without imagining there must have been more. He recalled his military service and the reasons behind his PTSD and hated to think of Sherlock suffering like that. "You know, when I came back from service, it took a while before I found someone I could trust without reservation."

"Yes. I do know. Kidnappings and dark warehouses did nothing to help, I am certain." Mycroft joked weakly. "However, I was correct...about many things."

John smiled, "Yeah, you were. I didn't trust my therapist but when you said I was 'very loyal, very fast', that's when I realized I had found the person I trusted above all others. I didn't even know why at the time, and I certainly wasn't letting on to you," Mycroft gave him that knowing look and John chuckled, "Well, I didn't know I was letting on anyway. I was working with limited information during the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours after all."

John copied Mycroft and leaned against the headboard, their shoulders touching. He rubbed the back of his neck before continuing, "You know, Sherlock never asked anything, never pushed for information. I am certain he knows plenty between what he could deduce and what he could get from you, but the point is he never pressured me to talk about it. Even when I had nightmares and he tried to help, he never asked me to tell him about them. I could talk to him now, if he asked, but even with him, there are some memories that are simply too difficult to bring up. I guess what I am saying is, you did the right thing with him. We won't get anywhere trying to get information out of him. We're just going to have to be there for him and support him until he can trust us enough to share on his own. Until he feels safe again."

Mycroft reached over and laced his fingers with John's, holding their hands between them on the bed.

"You are the only person Sherlock has trusted freely with his entire being since he was a very small boy, John. He allows me to do what I must for him but he doesn't trust me in the same way. I suspect he would have been leaning on you already if he had not arrived to the scene which greeted him on his return." Both John and Mycroft flushed a bit at the memory before Mycroft cleared his throat and continued. "I am certain he still trusts you, but now you are intimately connected to me and he doesn't know where that puts him. I suspect he won't feel safe for a while, certainly not while he is still trying to work out how he fits into our new dynamic."

John sighed, "Yeah, I know. I wish I knew how to help him; how to make it better now. But I suppose that it's simply going to take time. More importantly, I am completely awake now and still worried about Sherlock. I'm not going to be able to sleep and I don't believe you will be either. What do you think we should do?"

"Well, I think we should get up and get dressed. I will drop you by the hospital to see about Sherlock while I head to the office to get a jump on today's work. I can come back to get you when it's time to go speak to Mrs. Hudson, if that's acceptable." He was surprised by an enthusiastic kiss as soon as he stopped talking.

"That would be perfect, My.  _You_ are perfect! I love you."

John was already edging toward the side of the bed but Mycroft pulled him back for a long deep kiss before letting him go, "I am only perfect for you, John, but I love you as well."

In half an hour they were dressed and out the door, driving through London in the dark early morning hours.

{*} {*} {*}

The ward was quiet when John arrived, the lights dimmed for the nighttime hours. He approached the nurses' desk to check in before he went to see about Sherlock. He gave the evening nurse his most charming smile, knowing a guest this time of night would surprise her. Although technically Mycroft had him listed as Sherlock's doctor, so he really could get away with a visit. "Hello, how has Mister Holmes been doing tonight? Still behaving, I presume. Hopefully he slept at some point."

The nurse did recognize him which made things much easier. "Oh hello, Doctor Watson. Yes, he's behaved well enough I suppose. We haven't had to take the cord or computer anyway, though I suspect he hid the cord hours ago just to get away with more." She smiled carefully and John couldn't stop his small chuckle. He wouldn't have put it past Sherlock either. "He hasn't been to sleep though, not really. He'll lay in bed with his eyes closed for an hour, then jump up and go back to the computer. He refused a sleeping pill to get some rest but he did take his evening dose of the anti-anxiety med. I made sure he swallowed it myself." John knew any number of things the detective had hidden in his mouth before, a pill would be child's play for him. Still she had been most kind and helpful so John thanked her for her help and headed for Sherlock's room.

He was laying in the bed again when John arrived, all of the lights were on and he was staring at the ceiling. The laptop remained open on the small table but John didn't bother trying to see what Sherlock had been doing. Dropping his jacket onto one of the chairs, he went over to stand beside the bed. Sherlock spoke up, "There are exactly 30 separate tiles in the ceiling of this room. Two are still the original ones from construction. Eight were replaced since I was last in here, five at the same time. I memorized what each looked like exactly when Mycroft had me in here for detox. But I could not find it in my Mind Palace, couldn't call it up… so I have memorized them all again to update the entry and that seemed to recall the other associated data." He stopped talking and turned his head to look at John, "Do you think that's good?"

John would never pretend to know how Sherlock's Mind Palace worked but he knew there was a problem if he couldn't easily access the information he had stored there. "I think it is not good that you had trouble recalling the details in the first place and had to observe again. But yes, if updating brought back the associated data, then that is very good."

Sherlock smiled brightly as if he had just received the highest of praise before the incongruity of John's presence hit him. "What are you doing here? It's not morning yet."

John sat on the edge of the bed, "Mycroft and I could barely sleep a wink between us. So he's gone to the office to do some work and I came here to check on you. And the first order of business, did you actually swallow your pill for the nice nurse?"

Sherlock smirked broadly before reaching under his pillow and pulling out the capsule. "Did you mean this pill?"

John took it from his fingers and sighed, "Sherlock, you promised. Do you want to stay here longer? Want to risk hurting Mrs. Hudson? If there is no medication in your system and no improvement then they will keep you here and increase the dose."

Sherlock at least looked chagrined. The unspoken  _Do you want to possibly hurt me again? Worse than the first time?_  was clearly there. "I'm sorry, John. I was just having some fun to stay occupied. It's hard to get to sleep alone now… too many thoughts."

"I understand, Sherlock. Believe me, I do. But you need the medication and you need rest. You are still healing from various injuries and malnutrition in general. I am here now, and I'm going to help. But first things first, take your medicine." He held out the pill to Sherlock and retrieved the glass of water from the bedside table. He watched closely as Sherlock swallowed his pill and drank down his water. But he was not a pushover like the nurse, "Open," he commanded. Sherlock didn't even blink before he obeyed. John checked Sherlock's mouth visually and had no compunction about sticking his finger in as well, sweeping along the sides and under the tongue to check that he was clear. Sherlock coughed in protest but didn't try to bite him which was as much grudging acceptance as he was likely to get. When he was confident the pill was down, he ordered Sherlock to the bathroom and into his pajamas; the doctor knowing his patient hadn't even attempted sleep when he was still in his trousers and shirt with all the lights on. John turned off all but the dimmest light in the room and urged Sherlock to get into bed. Sherlock had followed every command John gave him without argument. John was still uncertain how much was a need to submit to someone else's control or how much was simple fatigue, but he used what ever he needed to to help Sherlock. Once he was settled, John toed off his shoes and got in beside him, sitting halfway up against the inclined head of the bed. He let Sherlock curl up against him, resting his dark curls over John's heart. Then he wrapped his arms around the thin man, providing comfort, safety, and warmth as he encouraged Sherlock to close his eyes and sleep. John knew the medication would take half an hour or so to start working, so he just focused on getting Sherlock quiet and settled so he would rest when the medication finally absorbed.

John absently rubbed his left hand over Sherlock's shoulder and back as the pale man relaxed against him. He must have been truly tired and fighting it, as John could feel his breathing slowing within fifteen minutes and by the half hour mark, Sherlock was completely limp and pliant against him. John considered getting up, but the clench of Sherlock's hand at his waist once he began to move, kept him in place, so he let his hand drift up to those dark curls instead. Knowing Sherlock was fully asleep, he let himself indulge in a long held desire, he ran his fingers through silken curls, watching as loops wove and passed between his fingers. How often had he longed to do this over the years, then had thought he would never have the chance again, and now here they were together. John let his fingers scrape lightly along the scalp of his genius and was surprised by a soft hum from said genius as he pressed more fully against him. John smiled softly and found himself whispering, "Like that do you, sensitive scalp? Any Dom could have a field day with you, love." The endearment slipped out with as much ease for Sherlock as it ever did for Mycroft, but that isn't what surprised him. Almost as soon as John had the thought about a Dom with Sherlock, his fingers tightened in the curly hair. It was almost an unconscious gesture and John would have felt guilty if Sherlock's response hadn't shocked him further. This time a definite moan escaped from Sherlock's lips at the pressure and his narrow hips pressed into one well-muscled thigh. John froze, fearing for a moment that he had roused Sherlock. He didn't know how he would explain himself if his friend was aware of what he had done. But Sherlock merely sighed, his hips returning to their normal position while he slept on. John couldn't believe it, even with what he and Mycroft had seen and discussed, to have Sherlock respond in such a way was...tempting. Maybe it was just a fluke, maybe Sherlock was dreaming something else when John did it, this time he knew he would test that theory even as he had the thought. He carefully relaxed his fingers and rubbed gently for a moment before tightening his grip again, this time giving a slight tug on the dark curls, pulling Sherlock's head back a bit so that he could see his face more clearly. Another moan escaped and the hips pressed more sharply forward this time, but to top it all off, the breathy sound of Sherlock moaning out John's name came next. John looked sharply at the pale face before him, certain Sherlock was awake, but the eyes still moved normally beneath closed eyelids, those full lips were parted slightly and warm breathing escaped steadily.  _Fuck!_  John was a hair's breadth away from pressing his lips to that luscious mouth and pulling Sherlock against him, when he came to his senses and pulled himself back.

He took a few deep breaths, his eyes closed against the temptation before him. When he felt calm he opened his eyes and looked critically at the man in his arms.  _Bloody hell if he wasn't the most tempting thing!_  Right now he was at his most vulnerable, trusting him completely, and he lay in John's arms, perfectly compliant. It was a heady feeling to be sure. John had never had an experience with any sub that struck him as viscerally as Sherlock's response had just now.  _You weren't in love with any other sub you've been with either._ John mentally swatted away the nagging voice in his head. The question now, was what was he going to do about it.  _Nothing of course!_  John told himself readily. He was an honorable man, he had a fiance and had no need to explore his long held love for the man's own brother. Still… if they were going to help Sherlock, he really should understand more about the man's responses and needs. Surely a little experimenting would not go amiss.  _You can't experiment on him when he's sleeping, John!_  The inner voice of John's conscience was getting on his nerves. He thought for a moment before huffing out a small laugh. "And why the hell not? This man has conducted I don't know how many experiments on me over the years while I slept. I stopped counting the numbers of plasters, nicks, cuts and punctures I have woken up with on parts of my body over the years. A little bit of testing regarding Sherlock's heretofore unheard of sexual response is completely within my rights as the previously wronged party here." John ignored the fact that he was talking to empty air. However, there was no rebuttal from his conscience this time.

John studied the man in his arms more closely, his right hand coming up as he trailed his index finger across the strong brow, brushing a stray curl back as he passed, then down over the delicate temple until he cupped Sherlock's sharply defined cheek in his palm. "You've always been so bloody gorgeous. It is next to impossible to resist you, you know. I certainly couldn't." John moved his thumb across Sherlock's full lower lip, stroking it gently as he continued to speak softly, "Your mouth alone should be a registered weapon. Can you even imagine the number of times I pictured you on your knees with this perfect mouth wrapped around my cock." John had unconsciously tightened his grip in Sherlock's curls as he spoke, but he registered the moan beneath his thumb and the press of hips against his thigh. "Do you like that? You like my hand gripping your hair tight, don't you?" John switched his thumb for his index finger and continued to stroke along the plush lip as he spoke, "Would you like my cock in your mouth, Sherlock?" He gave a sudden sharp tug, observing the small gasp followed by another moan as the hips stuttered against him again. There was a noticeable firmness now pressing into John's thigh and he glanced down to see the pleasing bulge in Sherlock's pajamas. "Oh, but you are a good boy aren't you? So eager. You must really want some cock in that pretty mouth. Want me to hold your head tight and guide you up and down my thick cock? Or would you like me to shove it hard and deep into that lovely long throat of yours?" He let his hand drift down until he wrapped it gently around Sherlock's throat, tightening his grip ever so slightly as he spoke, "Judging by the response of your body you would like any of it, wouldn't you, love?" Sherlock was panting softly now, a light pink flush visible on his cheeks, and he pressed his hips rhythmically against John's thigh, his erection hardening with every thrust. John took a moment to breathe again because even asleep Sherlock was hot. John reminded himself that this was just an experiment… nothing more. "Just look at you, so eager… so good, I bet you would do anything for me if I gave the command wouldn't you?" A needy whine came from Sherlock this time. John released his throat and returned his index finger to Sherlock's parted lips. He wanted desperately to push two fingers into that warm mouth and order Sherlock to suck. His own cock was pressing uncomfortably against the zip of his jeans and he was rethinking the advisability of this experiment. But at just that moment, a dreaming Sherlock took the initiative, his tongue snaking out and wrapping around John's finger. Before John could think better of it, he offered the second finger and pressed into Sherlock's moist, hot mouth. Sherlock sucked happily, his tongue slipping between the thick digits, while he ground his now prominent erection against John for more friction. Sherlock was moaning and humming softly and John fought the loud groan ready to escape his throat.  _That must be one hell of a dream Sherlock thinks he's having._  John just knew he shouldn't, but before he even realized, he was thrusting his fingers gently in and out of Sherlock's mouth. "Just as I thought, you are a greedy little slut aren't you? Liable to do anything for some cock. Naughty boys like you should be punished you know, shouldn't just get everything you want." John pulled his fingers away from those beautifully pursed lips, and trailed his hand along the left side of Sherlock's lean body, noting absently that his nipple peaked instantly from even that slight stimulation.  _Christ he is so responsive!_

John finally reached Sherlock's still grinding hips and pushed firmly, separating Sherlock's thrusting cock from his leg. There was a whimper of protest as the desired friction was denied. "Shh… now. You've been such a good boy. You've done very well, so eager and responsive for me, love. But little sluts don't get permission to come in their pants the first time now do they? You have to earn the privilege of coming my sweet...you're going to have to work for it. Work hard and please me, then we'll see what reward you get to have." Sherlock was still whimpering and trying to thrust his hips against something. "Shush now, love. You've done so well but the experiment is over now. We need to calm down and rest. Come on now, calm down for me. Be a good boy and get your sleep." John kept speaking softly and prevented Sherlock from stimulating himself any further until he eventually calmed and settled, finally stopping altogether. John studied his friend, still sound asleep on his chest, finally whispering, "You really are just the sweetest little sub aren't you, Sherlock? Just waiting for the right Dom to take you on… to take care of you." John lay back on the pillow and tried to ignore away his own erection while his thoughts wandered. He hated to admit that he was uncomfortable with anyone other than him seeing Sherlock so vulnerable, or with anyone else taking care of him either. He sighed. How were the three of them ever supposed to find a normal balance again, or rather as normal as possible where the Holmes brothers were involved. John didn't know the answers, but he did know he and Mycroft would be having some interesting conversations soon. John drifted into a sound sleep himself finally, knowing he had Sherlock safe in his arms quieted his worries and fears easily.

{*} {*} {*}

Sherlock woke feeling rested and somewhat… happy. He realized quickly that the happiness had to do with the chest he was still laying against. He quickly glanced up and saw John's face, relaxed in sleep and looking far younger than when his brow was drawn with the worries of the world while awake. He had dreamed so many times of being in just this spot, all he could do was lay there and look at John, study him closely as he breathed softly. He would have been content to stay there all morning but the door opened to admit the nurse, followed shortly by Mycroft. John's military training had kicked in and he was awake seconds later, stretching and causing Sherlock to shift off his chest, much to the latter's disappointment.

"Good morning, brother. I trust you slept well." Mycroft already had the report from the nurse and knew he didn't sleep until John got there, but he was still polite.

Sherlock thought about it for a minute before replying, "Actually, I slept very well after John returned. I believe I even had some pleasant dreams… though oddly, unsatisfying at that." The puzzled expression only lasted a second before Sherlock was back to his usual self, rising from the bed and heading for the bathroom, only to be stopped by the nurse for his medication. With a wry expression towards John, he tossed the pill back and swallowed, chasing it with some water.

John watched him closely, "Do I have to come over there and check?" The Captain's voice brooking no sass, only an appropriate response.

Sherlock gave him a cheeky salute, "No sir. Took it like a good soldier, sir." With a wink that was painfully reminiscent of a much younger, much more innocent Sherlock, he disappeared into the bathroom for his morning ablutions.

Mycroft took the whole exchange in with interest and a certain degree of amusement. But what intrigued him the most was the almost guilty expression on John's face when Sherlock mentioned unsatisfying dreams. In fact, all he had to do was turn one raised eyebrow to John once his brother was out of the room to garner a reply.

"I'll tell you about it later," John replied with a sheepish shrug.

Once Sherlock was out and settled for breakfast, they bid their farewells to go and speak with Mrs, Hudson, though John did have to promise to bring back tea and biscuits. John chuckled, wondering if Mrs. Hudson wouldn't just storm down here and toss it over Sherlock's head, but he still promised.

{*} {*} {*}

They had discussed how to broach the subject of Sherlock's faked death and return several times. However, one never knew how to take Mrs. Hudson and they had not come up with any clear winners so far. So it was that they arrived in front of 221A, more than a bit apprehensive. The door opened and Mrs. Hudson flashed them her brightest smile.

"Oh Boys! It is so good of you to come and welcome me home! I have had such adventures with my sister, you will hardly believe the stories I have to tell the two of you. Oh, but don't just stand there like a couple of dolts, come in. Come in!"

John and Mycroft dutifully entered and allowed Mrs. Hudson to show them over to the settee. "Now, you boys just sit back and let me get the tea. Lord, I don't know how long it's been since I got the service up. I might have forgotten how to make tea by now." She had been on holiday for a month but both men knew better than to think she would ever do such a thing as forget how to make her tea. Still, they did have business to attend to sooner rather than later. John stopped Mrs. Hudson with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Mrs. Hudson, we didn't just come to welcome you home. There have been some… changes around here that we really need to fill you in on. These changes may be a bit surprising and downright upsetting but that is why we're here… to help you understand."

Mrs. Hudson was always more observant than they gave her credit for but often on the wrong page. She studied the two men before her, knowing eyes quickly falling to the bands on their respective fingers. "BOYS!" She squealed loudly snatching their hands up together to look at the shiny new rings, only to freeze and glare at both of them sharply. "I swear if the two of you went off and got married without me there, I will have your hides." Mycroft rubbed a finger over his upper lip in an effort to hide his smile. John also struggled for seriousness in the face of Mrs. Hudson's all too real threat.

"No. No, Mrs. Hudson, we wouldn't dare get married without you, just engaged for now." Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands together in glee and John could already see wheels turning over wedding preparations in her head. "But… BUT, Mrs. Hudson," He grasped her elbow and urged her to sit down so they could actually talk to her, "That is not the change we came to talk to you about. There's something else… something much more significant we need to discuss."

She sat in her chair at last and looked carefully at the two men before her. "Well, what's happened? Why the serious faces, dears?"

They had decided to let Mycroft lead. "It's about Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson."

{*} {*} {*}

In the end it took two hours, a bit of screaming, a lot of tears, and an herbal soother with a cup of tea laced with bourbon to break the news and explain the entire story to Mrs. Hudson. She felt the same as they did, furious at the deception and endured suffering, but heartbroken that Sherlock had gone through so much on his own. She vowed she would see him tomorrow if the doctor didn't let him come home first and John promised he would take her. They left her resting on the settee as they headed upstairs. John still had 'drinkable' tea to make.

John went straight to the kitchen as usual, while Mycroft poked about the sitting room. John was getting down a thermos and cups when he stuck his head out, "Tea for you?" The affirmative reply sent him back to his preparations.

Mycroft wandered over to lean against the door leading into the kitchen, watching John move effortlessly through his 'ritual'. He watched him at home plenty of times, but it was different here; more… natural. Clearing his throat, he asked the question he was most curious about. "So do you want to tell me about Sherlock's unsatisfying dreams?" John froze for a moment at the counter, turning to look over his shoulder with that same sheepish expression. He still had to wait for the kettle, so he motioned Mycroft to the table and sat opposite him.

If they had not made a practice of complete honesty with each other since their relationship began, John might have been tempted to gloss over the details for once, though he hadn't actually done anything wrong. Perhaps just wandered into a rather grey area, he would say. Mycroft waited patiently, his curiosity growing. "Well, you know we discussed Sherlock's new-found need for submission?" Mycroft merely nodded. "Well, I guess you'd have to say I conducted an experiment when Sherlock fell asleep. The results of which were, uhm...quite pronounced and definitive. However, as the end results of the experiment getting carried away would have been most difficult to explain away this morning, I found it necessary to curtail the activities of said experiment." John was quite proud of himself for explaining without elaborating any embarrassing details. He wasn't thinking about the fact that Mycroft could access the video surveillance of Sherlock's room at any time. No, that particular thought would hit him much later… a sort of delayed mortification.

Mycroft couldn't say he was surprised or shocked by John's admission, though he was rather waiting for Sherlock to throw himself at John in some way. Curiosity was still his overwhelming emotion. "And what is your assessment of Sherlock, as a potential sub?"

"Bloody gorgeous!" The words were out before John even thought twice, he gasped as he heard himself say it, then looked up, his face full of shame. "I'm sorry, My. I shouldn't have said that." Mycroft waved him off impatiently.

"John, we've already discussed that I am well aware of your feelings and don't expect them to simply vanish. You must stop feeling guilty unnecessarily. But as to your legitimate assessment of Sherlock's needs, please continue."

"He's remarkably responsive, even asleep. He makes the most beautiful noises, and that's based only on a brief experimental period. He enjoys at least a bit of rough play, if I am to judge from the hair pulling, though I limited my testing as I didn't want to wake him once I had finally gotten him to sleep. And he's very eager to please… to obey, at least, to the right person or command." John hesitated briefly before asking the next logical question, "Do you… can you think of any Dom that would be willing to work with him? At the club maybe?"

Mycroft actually snorted at the last, "John, think of everything we have been discussing and going through with Sherlock. Do you honestly think we are going to find a stranger that he would allow to have that much control over him at this stage or ever, in fact?"

He did have a point, John's hand absently rubbed the back of his neck again, "You're right, My. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly. So much going on these days." He smiled weakly at his fiance and received an encouraging smile in return. "So what do you think we should do? Is this something we need to pursue in order to help Sherlock or merely something that may be needed eventually but is not pressing now?"

Mycroft considered that question for a moment, "There are certainly many factors to consider, John. In truth, you are the ideal Dom for Sherlock, the only one he would trust and let himself be vulnerable for. We know he wants you physically, and he needs you emotionally. Whether we need to do anything about that at the moment remains to be seen, I think. It does rather remind me of a similar situation with a certain doctor I know… a year back." John's eyes snapped up sharply, but Mycroft shrugged off his glare. "He needs you to save him, John; the way you needed me to save you."

John could only stare at his fiance incredulously. He was still trying to formulate a reply when the kettle sounded, so he used the tea preparation to give him a bit more time. Finally setting a cup down for each of them and taking his seat, he spoke. "You may be correct, that I am the ideal Dom for Sherlock. And I can't say I wouldn't take the greatest of pleasure in exploring that role with him. But I am engaged to marry  _you_ , not him. We have always explored alternate roles and paths together, My, but this is by far the most unusual thing we have ever discussed. And if it is not something we can share as a couple, then it would feel dangerously close to cheating for me. I don't know if I am capable of doing anything remotely required to explore this twist in our relationship."

Mycroft took John's words at face value, sipping his tea calmly. Maybe he had had more time to consider the possibilities, or maybe his mind was simply accustomed to seeing all options regardless of participants, but he was far less disturbed by this discussion than John seemed to be. At length he attempted to soothe his fiance. "John, we are merely discussing possibilities now. I'm not asking you to go off and do something you are uncomfortable with just because it's Sherlock. I don't know how this will all play out, it is the rare unknown for me. I will admit that I can never quite shake that little fear that you will leave me for Sherlock after all." He saw John's protest forming before it even began and held up a hand to still him. "I am also in the unique position of being able to inform you that you and Sherlock together make a very arousing sight." He couldn't stop himself from smirking at John's slack jawed expression over that little confession. He shrugged casually, "John, I have been at your side and watched you with many subs in the last year, how is seeing you with Sherlock any different from that?  _Besides_  the obvious sibling relationship, of course."

John could hardly believe what he was hearing, let alone know what he should do. He took a long sip of his tea before meeting Mycroft's gaze again. "I honestly don't know what to say about all this." He shook his head, truly not having the words to address this any longer.

Mycroft rescued him easily enough, "Well, there is plenty of time to discuss it further later. And Sherlock may not be ready for this type of approach, despite the success of your experiment. So, stop worrying yourself over nothing and go make some more tea. Sherlock will not be pleasant if you forget the tea."

John huffed a small laugh, "No, you're right about that." He stood and was turning to make the tea when long fingers grasped his arm to stop him. He turned back to meet the earnest expression on Mycroft's face.

"You have to consider John, what a unique position you are in. You are the sole man on this entire planet, deemed worthy enough to be loved by both Holmes brothers. You are the one man who holds the absolute faith and trust of the same two men. You are the most special man I know because your heart is big enough to equally love two such disparate brothers, and to grieve if you feel you have wronged either of them. If it turns out that you are the one man to help Sherlock overcome his demons, then I would be the biggest fool on earth if I tried to stop you because I was insecure in our relationship."

John fought the hitch in his voice as he cupped the pale cheek, brushing his thumb warmly across the thin lips before he leaned forward to bestow a chaste kiss. "If I lived to be one hundred, I would still never deserve everything you continue to mean to me and be for me. I will never deserve you enough for all that you are, My." He turned to make some fresh tea for Sherlock, the peaceful silence of love and understanding surrounding both men.

{*} {*} {*}

**AUTHOR"S NOTE:** I can only apologize again for the wait for this update. Not only did I bite off more than I could chew with my writing, I struggled getting my head around this chapter and the approach I needed to take. Constant gratitude to  **Ireland** **Spades**  for keeping me focused and providing guidance in addition to her miraculous beta skills. I can only tell you that barring my actual death the story will reach it's conclusion and all of the angst will be rewarded with smut and happiness. Hope to see al of you there when we make it! Enjoy! Sincerely, Cynthia


	9. Chapter 9

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** For you few lovely people who are following this series, I can only apologize deeply and sincerely for the delay in this update. I did allow myself to get distracted by a couple of fests. But primarily, facing the end of a 20+ year marriage left me incapable of putting myself in the headspace necessary to write this story. This story is still close to my heart and I couldn't do justice to our boys as well as their complex emotions and relationships when my own were such a wreck. Still working things out but have a better grip on myself now. I hope you all find the story still as absorbing as you have so far. Still light on smut for this chapter but stay tuned. ;) Next chapter will start off with a bang! Thank you all for your patience and attention. I hope you enjoy the update! :-D Sincerely, Cynthia

{*} {*} {*}

For the two additional days mandated by the doctor for observation, Sherlock managed to stay on his best behavior with the frequent application of John's presence and Captain Watson's voice. When no further episodes occurred and he had no reaction to the medication, the doctor released the detective into the care of his brother and his friend.

Coming home again had been a relief and a torment. Sherlock froze at the top of the stairs when he saw the coffee table, and the floor where John had lain injured by his hand. Fortunately, John realized the problem right away and intervened before Sherlock lost himself to memory again. Moving to stand directly in front of the still detective, John gripped both sides of his head firmly in his hands as Captain Watson commanded, "Look at me, Sherlock!" The icy blue-grey eyes moved obediently to the soldier's face. "It's in the past, Sherlock. I am right here, alive and well. Focus on the here and now with me, not on what happened. Can you do that for me?" The eyes quickly glimpsed between the floor and the face before him, skimming and studying the man as if to ascertain his reality, before he blinked slowly and the dark head finally nodded. "Good. Let's come in then and I will make you some tea, yeah?" Sherlock nodded mutely, following John into the flat and over to sit in his chair, studiously ignoring the sofa area for the time being.

He had barely finished his tea when Mrs. Hudson appeared. Even having been told, seeing Sherlock in his chair again was a bit of a shock. The detective rose respectfully to greet her as she approached, still uncertain of his welcome. Mrs. Hudson promptly slapped him with all the strength she could muster, then fell against his chest sobbing as she wrapped her arms around the too-skinny man. Sherlock could only catch bits of her words as she babbled through her sobbing. "Missed you so much…", "How could you…", and "Take forever to get some meat on your poor bones…", came out fairly clearly. He managed to tuck his arms around the frail looking woman and pat her back awkwardly until she had composed herself.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Hudson. It was what I believed necessary at the time. It was never my intention to cause you pain. Forgive me."

"I accept your apology, but it may take a little time to forgive you for this young man." Sherlock nodded, feeling properly chagrined.

John brought fresh tea and they all sat. Mrs. Hudson patted Sherlock's hand or leg sporadically as she nattered on about anything she could think of, as if she had to fill him in on all of the things he had missed while he was away. Whether it was meant to be encouraging or a way to reassure herself that he was truly there, Sherlock could not decide. Her chatter and mothering was comforting in its own way for the time being, and he let his attention drift as she carried on. John smiled and nodded, occasionally contributing a word or two to the conversation. Sherlock had a small smile on his face as he let it all wash over him, only focusing on the comforting sounds of the conversation at hand. When John rose to get refills for their teas, Mrs. Hudson suddenly gripped his forearm tightly, her face growing troubled as she lowered her voice, leaning in to speak pointedly to him.

"Sherlock, be careful with John. Please...be kind. I am nobody to trouble over, but John is a special man and you being here can't be easy on him. Whether he knows the real reason or not, whether you have apologized or not, all is not as he would have it seem to you."

Sherlock's brows furrowed as he narrowed his gaze on his demure landlady, carefully deducing as she spoke. Maybe she was the key to the puzzle of John and Mycroft that had tormented him for weeks. He was listening intently as she met his piercing gaze.

Emotion making her words more erratic as she spoke, Mrs. Hudson continued, "We thought we had lost him, when you went away...more times than I care to recall. He loves you…"

"Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade has made me aware of that fact. I should have deduced it ages ago but somehow managed to miss the signs." He would have continued on but Mrs. Hudson tugged sharply on his arm to regain his attention.

"Now listen, Sherlock. He loves you and he was lost when you...well, when you did...what you did." She simply couldn't bring herself to say the words at the moment. "He tried to go on for a bit but he just couldn't, couldn't keep up the pretense, couldn't keep trying...without you. He gave up and we nearly lost him."

Sherlock could still recall first meeting John, deducing the very real threat of suicide on the ex-army doctor. His heart twisted painfully in his chest as he began to understand what his friends had been discreetly trying to tell him. Why Lestrade was so angry at him and Mycroft frustrated far more easily than before. John alone had failed to make any mention of that time and the truth about what he went through, the depths of his grief and suffering. Sherlock replayed all of his attempts to get information out of John and the responses he had gotten. He hadn't understood why John would shut down instead of blowing up, why would John not simply tell him the truth. He finally began to suspect it was something far deeper than he imagined and shuddered involuntarily as his concern for John grew. He could tell by the sounds from the kitchen that John was almost finished with the tea refills as Mrs. Hudson's words drew him from his thoughts once again.

"It's a miracle that Mycroft was able to somehow get through to him. And we have been more than grateful to see them happy together. To see John with his zest for life restored after being so close to-" She stopped abruptly as John entered the sitting room, not quite able to remove the guilty expression from her face.

Sherlock watched with interest as John either didn't notice or chose to ignore the tail end of the conversation and the looks on their faces. He merely quirked an eyebrow and served the tea, taking his seat in his chair and looking expectantly at them both to continue with what they were talking about. Mrs. Hudson suddenly recalled some baking she needed to get done and rose to leave with one last pat and meaningful look at Sherlock.

"I'm trying out a new recipe that I think you boys will like. I'll be sure to bring up samples later." Then she was gone, leaving the two men looking slightly bewildered by their loveable landlady and her ways.

Sherlock wanted desperately to ask again about that time but for once held his tongue. He would need further information before confronting John again. Still wishing to avoid the sofa side of the room, he excused himself when he was done with his tea and disappeared into his room. Stretching out on the bed to think, he soon found the recent stresses and new medication catching up to him as he drifted off to sleep.

{*} {*} {*}

He bolted awake, screaming John's name and gasping for air. It had been the dream again. The dream with Moriarty and John, only this time it was different. This time he watched in dawning horror as John turned the gun on himself. Moriarty's voice echoing in his head,  _Told you, you would be the death of him_ , as John squeezed the trigger and the gunshot rang out.

John bolted into the room only a moment later, looking worried as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Sherlock? It's alright, I'm here...everything's okay. Bad dream again?"

Sherlock barely managed to nod before grabbing John with both hands and pulling him into his arms for a fierce hug. His hands roamed obsessively over John's face and head, verifying there was no wound.

John made no comment over the behavior, merely wrapping his arms around his friend and rubbing soothing circles over his back until the younger man had calmed. Once Sherlock's breathing returned to normal and his attention was fixed in reality and not the dream world any longer, John spoke, "Mycroft is here to go over things for the press conference. Do you feel up to it, or should we wait?"

Sherlock shook his head and waved John off, "I'll be fine. Give me a minute in the lav and I'll be out. We need to get this done so life can begin to go back to some semblance of normal." He didn't miss the small twitch of the muscle running along John's jaw. It was a very precise indicator, he had always found, of John's emotional state. Something about his comment had upset his friend. He couldn't determine what at the moment but would keep it in mind for later thought. His John had always been a surprise and a mystery rolled into one, and that had hardly changed simply because Sherlock had been away.

Soon they were occupied with preparations; nightmares and thoughts of suicide temporarily forgotten. The press conference, having been postponed due to the hospital stay, had now been set up for Friday afternoon. They could at least limit access to Sherlock more easily over the weekend and that would give the news a little time to settle before any of them had to face the public in any extensive way.

{*} {*}{*}

Friday found them all spiffed up and trotted out for the press to gawk at and question. Lestrade read a statement, and Sherlock stepped forward to take questions briefly, while John and Mycroft stood off to the side. The press room was in a state of barely contained chaos and reporters jostled and jockeyed to get their question out first. Sherlock did well enough, only suffering a couple of minor blips when some random question caused a sudden flash of memory. John and Mycroft were keenly aware and motioned Lestrade to wrap it up before the strain became too much. Not to be deterred, the reporters began throwing questions at John as well. Sherlock quickly noticed that not all of the questions had to do with the case at hand, many were disturbingly personal in nature; something John had never stood for before. The detective didn't miss the hard set to John's jaw nor the tight flex of the hand at his side, before Mycroft quickly ushered him out the side door. He turned to Lestrade who was nodding for him to go on as well while he wrapped up the press conference. The riotous noise in the room only grew as he turned to leave. Fortunately Mycroft had foreseen the problem and security was in place to hold back the reporters and aid them in a hasty departure from the building.

John was tense and quiet the whole ride back to the flat, staring out of the window while Mycroft held his wrist lightly in his left hand and seemed to hold the back of John's neck with his right. Sherlock could see his thumb stroking along the back of John's neck and after careful study he could make out the outline of something underneath John's shirt. Something around his neck. When John shifted to glance over at Mycroft, Sherlock glimpsed a flash of caramel brown leather. He averted his eyes when John looked his way, but he was remembering the collar he had seen on his friend the night he returned. He didn't understand why John would wear something like that out in public. There was so much that didn't make sense about him now. When he risked glancing over again, John was once more staring out of the window, but Mycroft was watching him. He glanced pointedly at the thumb rubbing against the collar, as if hoping to divine the meaning there, before meeting Mycroft's gaze once again. His brother's expression remained bland, giving nothing away. Sherlock finally looked away himself, saving this latest bit of information.

Soon enough they were safely ensconced back at 221B. Preparations had been made and security arranged, Sherlock should not have to leave the flat or deal with the press at least through the weekend. Even now paparazzi were arriving outside, hoping to get prime shots of the detective or his sidekick either one. They simply closed the curtains and ignored them. Mrs. Hudson had gone to her sister's for the weekend and Sherlock had disconnected the bell again. For once they didn't chastise him for it.

They were just sitting down for a cuppa when two men came rushing up the stairs and barged in the open door. One man held a video camera, filming every second he could get and the other was firing questions with his recorder held out to catch any answers; they had no idea what they were dealing with. The three men being accosted were on their feet instantly, tea spilled and forgotten as they all went on the defensive. Surprisingly, Mycroft stepped in front of Sherlock, shielding him while John dealt with the intruders. Sherlock could only watch, amazed at the swiftness with which John moved. The men were relieved of their camera and recorder, finding themselves moaning on the floor in short order with a gun pointed at them.

"Don't. Move."

John was fierce and beautiful, both Holmes men subject to a healthy dose of arousal at the imposing figure he cut.

"How did you get in here?" John snarled, but his gun hand was deathly still and his face the picture of restrained violence.

The reporter just moaned and mumbled about suing but the cameraman managed to stutter out a reply. "D-downstairs...flat downstairs was dark, s-so we jimmied the back door...came through." John's sudden growl, echoed by Sherlock's, sent the man scrambling back from the advancing soldier and the incensed detective, "We didn't touch anything… Honest! Didn't see anyone."

Mycroft was thankful they had sent Mrs. Hudson away for the weekend. John's history with the press after Sherlock's  _death_  had been rocky at best, the afternoon's barrage only reminding him of that time. If Mrs. Hudson had been home and these hoodlums had pulled this stunt, he was quite certain he would not be able to prevent either John or Sherlock from doing actual bodily harm to these men. It was still a near thing at that. Fortunately Lestrade arrived just then, right behind Mycroft's security detail.

John refused to lower his gun until the two men were cuffed, only then explaining to Greg. "These two broke in through Mrs. Hudson's flat, back door. Trying to get their bloody scoop!" He was still furious and kicking the nearest man was intensely tempting.

Greg went down to check the scene himself, then called in his people to deal with collecting the evidence they needed for the break-in, even though Mycroft would readily provide him with the man's confession on video. Mycroft sent some of his men around back to secure the area and make sure no one else had the same idea. At the same time, he was mentally preparing the dressing down some agent would be receiving for allowing the lapse in security to occur in the first place. For a while there was nothing but noise, activity, and flashing lights at the flat. No one really noticed that Sherlock had slipped away until the intruders were hauled out of the flat.

John turned to comment that the detective had certainly been quiet and found there was no one to hear him. Flashing a concerned glance at Mycroft, he headed for the lavatory and bedroom to search. He couldn't help the sigh of relief when he found his friend curled up on his bed in the darkened bedroom with his back to the door. Given the circumstances of the day, John knew to approach cautiously.

"Sherlock...how are you holding up mate?"

The man twitched slightly, before an answer came. "Oh, fine, just fine. Terribly tired, just thought I would rest."

John still knew Sherlock better than anyone. He could read the shape on the bed just as easily as the detective could read everyone else in the world. Still fully dressed, he hadn't even removed his jacket or his shoes. He was tense, despite his arms and legs being curled in to mimic sleep, his pose still screamed tension. John was having none of it, not after all they had been through. He walked around to the side Sherlock was facing, squatting down beside the bed to grasp one thin wrist in his left hand, giving it a small shake. "Sherlock, you're lying to me."

Sherlock had watched him approach, saw him take his wrist but at the words he closed his eyes tightly. As if he could make everything disappear if he stopped looking.

John studied his friend for a moment before letting his hand slide up over the bicep and shoulder to clasp tightly around the back of Sherlock's neck. Pressing his forehead against those soft curls, he spoke quietly, "Tell me the truth this time. How are you?" He gave a firm squeeze to the pale neck under his palm and waited. He felt the faint tremors through the shoulders and heard the shuddering intake of breath.

Sherlock was trying to hide, trying to escape, but he couldn't. Couldn't escape the noise in his head, reflecting the chaos in and around the flat at the moment. But then John was here, reliable and strong, protecting him and grounding him once again. The swirling in his head began to slow under the weight of the hand gripping his neck firmly and the steady breath puffing across his face as John waited. "I'm not okay." He opened his eyes to meet John's discerning gaze, "I'm not...safe. Not acceptable, need to get out...get away. Be safe." And his John, he understood.

With a decisive nod, John stood, tugging Sherlock up with him. "Pack a bag for the weekend. You're coming home with us tonight." The detective blinked at him for a moment, before a playful smack on his bum snapped him into action. "Get a move on. We want to get home in time for dinner. I'll go let Mycroft know." There was a reassuring smile behind the command and Sherlock's lip twitched as he pulled a bag out of the bottom of his wardrobe and began tossing items into it.

After security steamrolled them through the paparazzi juggernaut, the ride to the townhome was relatively quiet, John and Mycroft discussing some other events coming up and Sherlock studying them both surreptitiously. John was certainly calmer than he had been earlier, Mycroft merely held his hand as they talked, stroking his thumb over the rugged knuckles as though he was still unconsciously calming the soldier. The detective watched his older brother, his behavior was indulgent and affectionate; he actually even smiled a genuine smile when John said something he found amusing about someone they knew. It was so unlike anything he had known before, but he did not doubt Mycroft's feelings for John, he would have been able to see through an act and he found that revelation all the more surprising.

When they arrived at the townhome, Mycroft disappeared into his study and John led Sherlock upstairs. It wasn't as if Sherlock had never had to stay here before, but having John show him to his room and make sure he had everything he needed was odd. Or rather it felt like the right thing in the wrong place.

"Well, settle in, do what you want. I'm going to change out of this suit and go see about supper. You can come down anytime you want, we'll be eating in the kitchen." Sherlock nodded slightly and began to unpack. John was just about to leave but he turned back. "Are you feeling okay now?"

Sherlock glanced around the room and then at John, "Yes. Much better now." He raised a hand, pointing one long finger at his head, "Much quieter in here. And I always feel safer when you are near." He smiled briefly before ducking his head and returning to his bag.

John was a bit taken aback that Sherlock would make such an admission to him but gave a short nod as he replied, "Well...good. That's good, Sherlock. I am glad you feel more secure. See you downstairs." Then he was gone, leaving his friend to finish up, the door closing softly behind him.

Sherlock unpacked, then freshened up in the lav before heading downstairs thirty minutes later. He was surprised to find Mycroft in the kitchen with John, and hovered in the doorway watching them, not quite making out the low bantering voices. John was stirring something on the stove and Mycroft stood behind him with his arms wrapped around the lean waist. Sherlock watched his brother smile and lean over John's shoulder to taste the bit of food held up to his lips. A hum of appreciation followed before he captured John's mouth in a kiss, a kiss John happily returned before pulling back and shooing him away so he could finish cooking. The violent stab of jealousy was becoming more familiar as time went on, he still did not like it but there didn't appear to be anything he could do about it...yet.

Mycroft noticed him standing there when he turned to set out the plates and glasses. Without comment he poured a glass of wine and slid it across the countertop towards his brother before filling the other two glasses. Sherlock moved forward, accepting the wine and taking a seat. The interaction between John and his brother was something he hadn't had the opportunity to study in a setting this casual. He was not at his best the night he returned to be able to observe, and too much had happened since then to allow him the leisure to do so, he sipped his wine and studied them both for clues about their relationship. Seeing them in this setting, something was nagging at his senses but he couldn't quite put his finger on the source.

John seemed normal enough; he always liked to cook after all. Sherlock noticed the long sleeves and buttoned cuffs as an odd difference. John always used to roll his sleeves up when he was cooking so he wouldn't get anything on them. Curious, but not definitive. He also observed that while John had changed, he had not been as vigilant with his buttons and the collar of shirt now lay open, clearly revealing the leather collar around his neck. The collar made Sherlock uncomfortable but he could not say why. The fact that he could make out the stamped initials of his brother in the leather irritated him profusely. It seemed to bother him even more that John wore it proudly; wore it frequently enough for the leather to be worn, soft and supple at his throat. Still, those weren't the reasons he shifted uneasily in his seat and continually looked away from the offending object only to have his eyes drawn back to it.

He observed Mycroft's behavior with John. There was nothing overtly possessive, though he knew his brother could be rather controlling when he chose. However, there were small tells: a hand resting lightly at the small of John's back, the touch of fingers over a wrist, and most frequently a hand resting across the back of the neck and a thumb rubbing over the leather collar. The actions were practically unconscious, John leaning into each touch with easy familiarity, as though the actions occurred so often between them that neither man gave a thought to the movements themselves, nor their guest.

Sherlock hated every second he sat there, but forced himself to observe as closely as he could. He would never have John back if he could not understand this strange situation. Mycroft held John's chair for him to sit and served him his wine while Sherlock ground his teeth. They ate their pasta in relative quiet, or rather, Sherlock withdrew into himself as he picked over clues while John and Mycroft talked about some amusing event that did not include him. It took the entire meal for him to narrow it down to one particular thing that didn't set correctly. His John, his strong, independant, gun-wielding, deeply emotional, and fiercely protective John; the man who stood toe-to-toe with Mycroft the first night they met and turned down his bribe point blank. His John was deferring to Mycroft, allowing him to take care of him, pamper him even. His John didn't need pampering, he was the caregiver, he took care of everything, including Sherlock. He was a military man who appalled being treated with kid gloves. The memory of Mycroft using John roughly the night he returned and the absolute pleasure written across John's face flashed across his mind bringing a shudder. It was wrong, it was all very wrong and Sherlock needed to know what had happened to warp his John so. His thoughts and deductions reached a head when he heard John and Mycroft laughing together, raising his head to see the doctor leaning in for a fond kiss and his brother's hand on the collar once more.

"Why do you wear that bloody thing?" he snapped in irritation, unaware that he hadn't even spoken for half an hour. He split his sharp, questioning gaze between the two men as the smiles melted off their faces and they sat back, glancing briefly at each other. He saw John blink slowly in resignation before he spoke.

"Why do I wear what, Sherlock?" He knew what Sherlock was referring to and regretted the year-long habit that kept him from fastening his buttons when he was at home with Mycroft.

"The collar, John! Why do you wear that collar and let Mycroft pet on you like you are an animal who can't care for itself? I can hardly stand seeing it." Sherlock didn't have to ask if he had ventured into the  _bit not good_  category, when he saw Mycroft's face darken and John's expression become closed off.

He caught the flicker of a tremor in John's left hand, before Mycroft's fingers closed over it and he spoke cold and sharp, "That, is a personal matter between John and I, Sherlock. Whether you care to see it or not does not concern us. Your understanding is not required, nor do we have the need to enlighten you, therefore your question will remain unanswered. Now, I believe we will retire. It has been a long and eventful day, and I am certain we  _all_ need our rest. You know your way around." He gave a small squeeze to John's hand as he rose and pulled the chair out for him to stand. Sherlock could only watch them go.

He had watched John as his brother spoke. Jaw tense, muscle twitching, Adam's apple bobbing convulsively as he obviously bit his inner cheek to hold back his own words; face reddened with suppressed emotion but not all anger as the evidence of tears pooling in his eyes indicated something far deeper, something raw that he had inadvertently struck upon. He did feel badly for upsetting John to such a degree with his outburst and wished he could apologize and comfort the man he loved so dearly, even if he did not understand what he would be apologizing for. But John merely walked out with Mycroft's arm around his waist, not even sparing him another look or a good-night. Sherlock fumed as he listened to them make their way upstairs, emptying his wine and pouring another. When he heard the faint snick of the bedroom door closing, he downed the rest of the second glass and hurled the empty vessel across the room with a snarl, only briefly satisfied as the glass shattered against the wall and fell to the floor.

{*}{*}{*}

In the morning, John acted like nothing had happened, coming in to wake Sherlock for breakfast and to make sure he took his medication. The glacial eyes scanned his friend as he swallowed his pill with a long drink of water. He saw the tired lines and dark circles around his red eyes, knowing he had been the cause. He felt he had to do something to mend things between them as he handed the glass back. Observing that today's shirt was buttoned all the way, covering the collar he knew to still be there, he reached out to stop John with a hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry, John. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. You don't have to cover it up on account of me."

"Notice you never apologize for prying though." The words appeared to have leapt from John's mouth before he could control himself. His lips quickly pressed into a hard line for a minute before he forced a tight smile onto his face. "My apologies, Sherlock. That was...impolite." Sherlock would have continued trying to appease John but he was already walking out again, stopping only briefly before he shut the door. "Breakfast is in thirty and I expect you down to eat. Oh, and Greg is coming over this afternoon to watch the match...have a few beers. We're just going to relax but you are welcome to join us." A brief smile and a nod then he was gone.

Mycroft's irritation with him was palpable at breakfast, though his brother was nothing if not courteous. The same as John, they both acted like nothing had transpired last night, as though Sherlock had never ventured into territory so deeply personal to them both.

When breakfast was over Sherlock sought the sanctuary of the library, avoiding both of them for the time being as he tried to regroup and refocus his efforts. At least he had stayed sufficiently occupied to keep any troublesome thoughts at bay since he came home from the hospital. He was so absorbed puzzling over his current situation that he didn't even notice the time passing, until John appeared once more.

"There you are! Greg is here. Were you going to join us for the match...bit of a visit with friends?" Sherlock never cared for sports but he hadn't had much of a chance to talk to Greg since the revelations that came with his punches. With a nod, he rose to follow John.

Greg was already waiting in the small lounge where John preferred to watch telly, beer in hand and feet on the ottoman. He sat up when he saw Sherlock and made to stand before the detective waved him back down. "So you're going to join us today?" Sherlock merely shrugged noncommittally, still not certain of his welcome with the DI. "Well that's good. Good to have you with us, Sherlock." Scanning Greg's face, he could see the warm words that were unspoken but remained there nevertheless. With a small smile and a grateful nod, he sank down in the chair next to Greg.

John had left them both to their greetings but soon returned with a fresh beer for Greg. Sherlock didn't particularly care for the brew and John being John presented his friend with a glass of wine instead.

"Thank you, John." He couldn't stop his broad smile at the man who knew him so well.

"You two relax and have a visit. We still have a bit before the match starts, so I'm going to get some snacks together. I'll be in the kitchen if you need something, so just yell." Mycroft must be working in his office again, leaving them to their fun, Sherlock thought as his eyes trailed John back out of the room. He sat back sipping his wine in contemplation, not realizing Greg was watching him.

"So, it's like that is it...you and John? I always wondered...before. I mean with everything that happened after you were gone...I just assumed." He cut himself off abruptly when he caught the piercing, curious gaze of the detective, fearing he had said too much. "I'm sorry. It certainly isn't my place to make assumptions. Forgive me."

Sherlock had raised his eyes to the detective inspector's face when he began talking, eyeing the conflicting thoughts he could see plainly written there reminded him of his own reasons for wanting to speak to Lestrade. Sitting his glass down, he leaned forward speaking low and glancing down the hall to watch for John. "I see nothing to forgive, certainly not more than you have had to forgive me for. John and I were never anything more than what you believed before my  _death_." He waited while Greg relaxed in relief before continuing, "Lestrade...Greg. The day we informed you of my return, you said some things. Some very pointed things about John during my time away. I didn't understand fully at the time, but I have since spoken to Mrs. Hudson and I believe I know why you were so angry with me...over John. She said you nearly lost him." He saw the haunted shadow pass over the DI's features as he spoke and broached his question carefully. "While we never were before, I do...care for John deeply. I had hoped when I returned…" He let the sentence fall away, unable to think about what he truly wanted without remembering John holding him close in the hospital. Shaking himself from his longings, he cleared his throat gruffly and continued, "I am having difficulty adjusting to...the changes since I have returned. I do not understand how certain things came about. I don't understand why John is the same and yet so different; he puzzles me at times. Could you tell me what happened? Please."

Greg sucked in a deep breath and then exhaled slowly, staring at his bottle of beer before tilting it up for a long swig. "Sherlock, you should really talk to John about this. It's very personal...and painful for all of us to recall."

"I have tried Greg! He won't talk to me!" Sherlock nearly shouted in frustration before swallowing his initial outburst. He didn't want John to return before he got some kind of information from Greg. "I have tried. He simply shuts down completely. You know how stubborn he can be."

Greg gave a brief huff. Yes, he did know how stubborn John could be, it was one of the reasons he nearly died four times before Mycroft somehow managed to reach him. He took another sip of his beer and began, "After you... _died_ , John was heartbroken. He simply stopped functioning. Oh he tried, for a week or so, but after the funeral he got progressively worse. The press hounded him day and night; insinuations, accusations, and outright lies ate at him constantly and he just didn't have the heart to fight them anymore." Sherlock sat back with a ragged breath as he began to picture what he had done to his John. Greg continued, staring into the past and oblivious to his effect on the detective. "He began to drink heavily, which you know was a bad sign given his family history. The first time it happened, we really believed it was a drunken accident. He fell down the stairs late one night, ended up with a concussion and a few scrapes; luckily he hadn't broken any bones. He woke up in the hospital two days later, apologizing to us all over and over, swearing he would be more careful." He paused for another pull on his beer.

Sherlock grabbed his own glass and took a gulp before he sucked in a deep breath and questioned, "You said the first time; there were others? You didn't think they were accidents?"

Greg shook his head slowly. "No, as time went by and he got worse, it became more and more clear that they weren't accidents. He became reckless, asked to help on cases just for something to do, risked his life over and over, chasing armed thugs without back-up…" He paused and glanced over at Sherlock, "Sound familiar?" Sherlock swallowed thickly, looking into his glass rather than meet those accusing brown eyes, while Greg picked up the thread of his thoughts. "He got stabbed one time, nearly bled to death in some dank alley before my men caught up to him and got help. I refused to let him back out on cases when he got out of the hospital from that one. Not that it helped any, of course, his quest for self destruction just kept on." He stilled, going so quiet that it drew Sherlock's attention, fearful of what he was about to hear.

"The last time…" he gulped sharply, visibly shaken as he emptied his beer. "I can't...I still have nightmares, Sherlock. Do you understand? I have nightmares about the condition I found John in the last time, alone in the flat. I thought he was gone; that despite the efforts of Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, and myself, trying our best to be there for him and keep an eye on him, we had failed and John was gone. Just like you."

A tear slid down Sherlock's chiseled features and he took another shaky breath. "Tell me...please. I need to know."

Greg just shook his head, "I don't think I can, Sherlock. I don't think I can make myself say the words. He was in the hospital for days, out of his mind with fever from the injuries and the cold. The doctor was ready to have him sectioned if Mycroft wasn't able to convince John to live with him under supervision and receive therapy. I still don't know how he managed it. I can't tell you how they came together exactly or anything you may want to know about them. I only know that slowly, John got better. Thanks to Mycroft, he gradually began to live again, to  _want_  to live again. Sometimes I can tell there are little differences now, but overall, he is the same John."

Sherlock only nodded, "I see."

Greg chuckled, "I'm not sure you do yet. But you will, that great mind of yours will turn it over until you get it." The DI leaned forward into Sherlock's space. "Even though I have no doubt he loves Mycroft, I also know he has never stopped loving you. That's why we've been so worried since your return, wondering how John is coping with everything. Despite Mycroft's best efforts, we have worried about a relapse. We care for both of you and want you to be safe and happy. So please, just this once, will you tread carefully for all of our sakes?"

Sherlock nodded readily, eager to end this conversation despite his earlier curiosity. Greg patted him firmly on the leg as he stood.

"Fine. Now get yourself together before John comes in here and wonders what's up. I'm going to the loo and then grabbing another beer. You need a refill while I'm going?" Sherlock just gave a short nod and held up his empty glass while hastily wiping the tears from his face. Apparently just in time, as John appeared a moment later with a tray of nibbles.

"All set now I think." John glanced at his tray, "Oh, forgot my beer. Be back in a flash." Sherlock watched him go as he reached for the tray, smiling slightly as he heard John and Greg teasing each other in the kitchen over the clink of beer and wine bottles. The urge to grab John and hold him close was strong, to tell him how important he was, how much he needed him to be here. Greg's words had rattled him more than he wanted to let on. But he knew it wouldn't be appropriate at this point, that and he didn't want John to know he had been  _prying_  again. He had a great deal to mull over and prepared himself to withdraw into his thoughts while his friends enjoyed the match.

He didn't actually spend as much time as he usually would ignoring the game, finding he enjoyed watching John and Greg arguing between themselves over their favorite clubs and just generally having a good time. John's smile and laughter always made him feel better. He ended up helping to refill snacks and fetch more beers without even thinking about it. While not his normal...well, normal behavior prior to his absence, he still found he was having a good time with his friends. Before the match ended, they had ordered pizzas and Sherlock had actually opted for a single beer, as wine simply didn't pair with pizza. Mycroft had put in an appearance by then, his mood improved a bit by time apart and apparently clearing up whatever crisis needed tending to.

As the match concluded and the evening appeared to be moving into some kind of movie marathon, Sherlock recalled his intent to ponder his new information. "Mycroft, could I use the computer in your office for some research? I left my laptop at home." Mycroft eyed him suspiciously, he knew better than to trust his brother around any sensitive documents he had in his office. "Perhaps you could just use mine or John's laptop in your room, hm?"

They both looked expectantly at John, "Oh yeah. Sure. You can use it if you like, it's in the library. I'll check in on you before bed if that's alright."

"That'll be fine John." He bid good-night to them all, retrieved the laptop and made his way to his room to begin his search. Maybe the meds were helping after all, it hadn't occurred to him to search here earlier, plus it would have taken him far longer without Greg's information to narrow it down. He knew Mycroft would have hidden or encrypted certain information given the press frenzy around that time, but his brother never truly got rid of anything that might be pertinent at some point. Just like the videos of his mental breakdown and the attack on John. It took over an hour to hack Mycroft's security and find what he wanted. Rapidly he poured over John's hospital records, his therapist's notes, words like 'drug overdose', 'alcohol poisoning', and 'self-inflicted lacerations' leaping out at him. He read over the course of the hospital stays, every injury and subsequent treatments. He read the therapist's notes for the entire year, noting John's breakthroughs and setbacks as he slowly recovered. His hands were shaking as he clicked the link that took him to photos and videos, but he forced himself to see and watch it all; to face what he had caused. Tears flowed unchecked long before he was done, his heart breaking when he saw the cuts on John's arms, realizing now why the shirt sleeves were kept down. Then as he watched John mourn him, crying and talking to the empty flat as though he was still there...because he wanted so desperately for him to be there; the love that Sherlock had never quite managed to observe, plain to be seen in every frame. When he saw the footage from the flat, from the  _last time_  as Greg called it, he had to pause the video and rush to the lav as he was violently sick. Rinsing his mouth with water and splashing his face, he braced his hands on the lip of the sink and breathed deeply. He couldn't chicken out now. He needed to see this through to the end. He squared his shoulders and returned to finish what he started; he wouldn't make any progress with John until he knew everything.

He had finished researching and changed into his sleeping clothes long before John ever made it up to check on him. Seeing everything John went through because of him, because of his feelings for him, had been brutally heartbreaking, his whole ordeal hardly seeming worth the suffering he had caused the man he had come to love. It was only made bearable by the fact that he had not physically inflicted these injuries upon John himself, unlike his mindless attack at the flat. Still, he was the cause. Knowing these details he had been missing, shed new light on not only John's behavior, but Mycroft's as well. Mycroft did care for John, as strange as that seemed. Sherlock could imagine he had gone to any lengths necessary to help John, to keep him alive. No wonder his brother had been so irritated with him and John so silent. He would have to find a way of letting Mycroft know how grateful he really was for his timely intervention, for saving John when he could not.

He sat in bed with his arms propped across his knees while he slowly filtered through each bit of information and cross referenced it with his preexisting knowledge. His Mind Palace was still in shambles, the space dedicated to John the only part that had been fiercely protected from the ravages of his physical and emotional torture. He was able to work through his data on John easily enough while he gradually attempted the arduous work of rebuilding the rest of his mental structures. He didn't even hear the knock at the door.

John had seen the light under the door and knew Sherlock was still up. He was hoping it was not another case of his mind preventing him from sleeping. He saw Sherlock sitting in bed almost like a school boy waiting for the lecture he knew was coming from his dad, but he could tell he was focused inward. Still he made the attempt. "Everything alright?" He was actually startled when Sherlock blinked once and focused clearly on him.

"Fine. I'm fine, John. Just a bit of mental work before I try to sleep." He couldn't help looking John over with new eyes, mentally placing the injuries he had seen over the template of the man before him now.

"Oh, right." John had stepped into the room and came to stand nearer the bed. "Is that safe? I mean, you seem okay, but is it safe for you to tackle any mental exercise on your own just yet?"

Sherlock shrugged, one side of his lip twitching up in half a smile. "I have to do it sometime. But to put your mind at ease, I have seen no ghosts nor had any visions that lead me to feel homicidal."

John shifted nervously, "You know that's not…"

"No, no, I know that's not what you meant." His long fingered hand waved absently in dismissal. "Excuse my rather dark attempt at humor, you know I tend to fail in that area often enough." He studied John once again, wanting only to pull the man into his chest and soothe away all the pain he had brought to bear on his soldier. He couldn't stop the grimace that crossed his face as the voice in his head chimed in.  _He doesn't need your comfort, he's had Mycroft to care for him when you failed._

John had watched the brief interplay of thought and emotion on his friend's face, for some reason he could read him as well now, if not better, than before. He noticed the red rimmed eyes and worried when the grimace crossed the sharp planes of his face. "Sherlock, are you sure you feel alright?"

"I'm just tired John. It's been a long couple of days...too much to think about. I'll be fine, I promise." He lifted the covers and slid his legs underneath in preparation to sleep before raising his eyes back to his doctor. Reaching out quickly, he captured one calloused hand in his and squeezed. "John, thank you." He knew his words were a feeble, poor expression of his gratitude for the many things John had done for him over the years, least of all being his unfailing attention since his return despite his own suffering. But he felt the need to say it, to try and express at least some of what he was feeling. "Thank you...for everything. I cannot help but feel I am the least deserving of your kindness after…well, after. Still, I appreciate you being there for me."

John was struck by the heartfelt confession from this man he loved and suffered over. The unexpected emotional impact taking a moment for him to navigate. When he could safely speak, he placed his other hand over their combined ones, "You are welcome. No matter what has happened between us, what things are different or the same, you can always believe in one thing Sherlock. I will always,  _always_ , have your back. You can trust me on that." It felt suspiciously like 'I love you' hung unspoken but crystal clear between them for a moment before Sherlock smiled softly.

"Good-night, John. I'll see you in the morning."

John released the soft hands as Sherlock slid himself further down into the bed and nodded quietly, walking to the door before turning back. "Good-night, Sherlock. Sleep well."

Sherlock nodded, waving his doctor out as he flipped off the bedside lamp. He closed his eyes as the door quietly clicked shut. Tomorrow he would begin planning how to get his doctor back.

{*} {*} {*}

As it was, Mycroft would unknowingly help Sherlock's plans along. He announced on Sunday that he needed to attend a summit meeting in Prague that would take the better part of the next week if not longer. After a bit of discussion, it was decided that John would return to Baker Street with Sherlock, both to help the detective get resettled and battle any lingering press harassment. Even though Mycroft had made clear what the results of further bother to his fiance and brother would be, some reporters were less than scrupulous with their morals if enough money was offered.

So it was, that John found himself unpacking his duffle bag in his old room once again. He had seen Mycroft off earlier that morning, before rousting Sherlock up for breakfast. He had taken the detective with him while he checked in at the office and saw to his messages and such; worrying about leaving him alone at the flat just yet. Sherlock took it all in stride, finding himself very curious about just what John had been doing with his life for the past year. But now, they were back in the flat, together and alone. John was surprised at the conflicting emotions that thought gave him. Mycroft had not mentioned him possibly acting as a Dom for Sherlock again since that day, but he found their conversation replaying in his head as he went downstairs to see about some lunch and tea.

He was briefly startled to find the detective in his chair in his traditional thinking pose, both hands steepled beneath his chin. Having not seen Sherlock in his chair like that since before the fall from St. Bart's, he found it a bit disconcerting. Still, he quickly shook it off and made his way into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle to begin the tea.

Sherlock had not missed the way John looked at him, he could still almost read the thoughts his doctor had about him. He did not believe he would have a hard time getting just what he wanted, if he offered John the proper incentive and motivation. He continued finalising his plans while John made the tea. He started subtly, testing the waters as it were. When John brought his tea, he allowed his long fingers to brush over John's as he accepted the cup. Being well aware of how John liked his voice, he added a soft, low, 'Thank you,' as well. The response was nothing more than a pause and a blink from the doctor, but it was a response nevertheless. Sherlock sipped his tea and formulated his list of things to try.

Things progressed much the same way that evening and the next day. He wore the clothes he knew from experience John admired him the most in, his black suit and the rich purple shirt had always been a favorite. That was one detail he had been pleased to find unchanged when John's eyes widened in appreciation as he unconsciously licked his lower lip the first time he came out of his room in the suit. But that was only one of the methods the detective employed. Sherlock would somehow manage to touch John lightly in passing or as they interacted. A few times he had managed to brush against him, reaching for something in the kitchen or as they exchanged turns in the bathroom. As much as he hungered for full body contact with John, he didn't dare push his luck too soon and make himself obvious. He was able to observe his doctor objectively and adjust his plans accordingly, however. John's gaze lingered on his body or followed his movements at least twenty-five percent more often than at anytime previously and Sherlock was pleased with this progress.

By the third day, he was prepared to be a bit more daring in his approach. He had suggested a night of films after dinner as an excuse to get closer to John for the evening and made sure they had plenty of wine. The doctor agreed readily, needing to unwind after a couple of challenging patients had called him out at odd hours the past two nights. Sherlock himself had not left the flat at all yet, though there had only been a few paparazzi lingering outside since they returned home.

John was still concerned about Sherlock's overall health and had steadfastly attempted to add calories into his diet to help the rail thin detective regain some of the weight he had lost during his ordeal. So tonight he set about making veal parmesan, knowing he could easily boost the detective's intake with that particular dish. Despite Sherlock never verbalizing his preference, John knew it was a favorite, virtually guaranteeing an empty plate for dinner. He threw together a small salad while the sauce simmered and then breaded the veal.

Sherlock had disappeared into his room, changing into his sleep clothes. He wanted to be comfortable tonight and, as much as he knew John liked to see him in his tailored suits, he was equally affected by a show of pale skin. The cotton sleep shirt rested low over his collarbone, exposing the expanse of his pale throat and he went barefooted as cold feet were always an excellent excuse to appeal to his doctor for his body heat. When he came out he watched John in the kitchen, wishing he could simply embrace him as he had seen Mycroft do while he was cooking. But he wasn't there...not just yet, still he had hope. Between the meds and his focus on John, he had felt as close to normal these past few days as he had been able to manage since he returned. He was pulled from his thoughts when John spied him leaning against the door-frame.

"Oh hey. Didn't hear you come in. Come give me your opinion before I finish up."

Sherlock moved forward obediently, curious as to what John wanted of him. He watched John stirring the sauce and lifting the wooden spoon to cool the sample with his breath. It was a given that he was to be offered a taste of the sauce, but when the spoon proved to be a bit too full, Sherlock got exactly the kind of opportunity he had been waiting for.

Some of the sauce began to spill over the bowl of the spoon and John quickly caught it with his index finger, intending to pop the sauce covered finger into his own mouth. Instead, he found his wrist clasped by long fingers and with only the flicker of an eye, his own digit was pulled to Sherlock's mouth. His breath caught in his throat as those plush lips closed around his finger, memories of his  _experiment_  suddenly coming to mind and causing a flush of awareness in his nether regions. He stopped breathing entirely as Sherlock's eyes drifted closed as he sucked the sauce from his finger, pulling his mouth off the digit slowly and swirling his tongue around the tip in parting. John was startled as those icy blue-grey eyes popped open, meeting his own gaze dead on.

"Salt." Sherlock's voice came out deep and husky, but he continued as if nothing had just happened. "And a touch more basil wouldn't go amiss, I think. Delicious as always John." He turned away from the slightly dilated gaze of his doctor, a flicker of triumph warming him. "I'll open the wine to breathe, shall I?" He hid his smirk when all he heard from John was an indistinct 'uhm-hm'. He left the soldier to his cooking then, giving him time to regroup while he got the videos ready. He knew he wanted to spend the evening on the sofa next to John, so he gritted his teeth and ignored the ugly memories that tried to push forward while he cleared off the coffee table so they would have somewhere to eat. He heard the oven close just before John's head popped out of the kitchen.

"Almost ready, I'll go change into my pajamas so we can both get comfortable and eat. Back down in a minute." Sherlock just nodded, making his way into the kitchen to pour two nearly full glasses of wine. He waited for John, watching as he pulled the hot dish from the oven, a thick layer of cheese bubbling over the veal and sauce made his own stomach gurgle in anticipation. The whole flat smelled of John's cooking and Sherlock began to feel  _home_  finally. John plated up their helpings of veal and bowls of salad, then threw a few warmed breadsticks in a basket and they were set. They soon had everything carried into the sitting room and placed on the table. Sherlock started the first film as they both sat on the sofa and began to eat.

Having decided that John's favorite Bond films might be triggering for Sherlock, they ended up with some generic romantic comedies and some science fiction spoofs. The detective had no idea what Galaxy Quest was, but John had chuckled loudly when he saw the cover, so he considered that a good sign that he would be pleased. Sherlock didn't care what they were watching as long as he got to fill his belly with the food John made and hear the ready laughter of his dear friend. He could have just sat there all night doing nothing else and been happy, but he did have a plan to keep to. In small increments he began to scoot closer to John.

John was content, just spending this time with Sherlock. The movie was mindlessly amusing and exactly what he needed to destress. The food was delicious and satisfying, he smiled to himself as Sherlock took another bite and literally purred with pleasure. He didn't make a fuss or even comment on the food, but he was well aware that the detective was steadily emptying his dishes. They were halfway through the first film by the time all the food and wine was gone. They paused long enough to carry the dishes to the kitchen and bring back the bottle of wine, pouring a second glass as they continued. They sipped the wine, letting dinner settle while the film played on. John waited until the break between films before springing his treat on the detective.

Sherlock looked up in surprise as John disappeared into the kitchen again, leaving him to put in the next film. He was further puzzled when John's voice called playfully from the kitchen.

"Close your eyes for me, alright? I have a surprise."

Sherlock did like surprises, especially from John, so he dutifully closed his eyes and waited. While he was only blind briefly, he rapidly became attuned to John, focusing only on him and the sounds he made, tracking his location around the flat by ear. He heard John's footsteps on the floor and rug before the soft voice sounded again.

"Hold your hands out."

Sherlock felt a strange frisson of excitement he did not understand from the quiet command but he dutifully held his hands out. He found himself rewarded when something cool and round was placed in his hands and the same voice spoke.

"Open your eyes."

Sherlock gave a small gasp of happiness when he found himself holding a chocolate tart with a large dollop of whipped cream on top. He smiled like a giddy schoolboy as he swiped his finger through the whipped topping and popped it into his mouth, humming happily as he sucked his finger clean and reached for some more. Only when he had the finger in his mouth again did he realize John was still standing there, holding his own tart in one hand as he watched him with a certain hunger. He didn't miss the slightly dilated pupils his doctor was sporting. He stared at John as he slowly sucked his finger clean, withdrawing it from his mouth and letting it fall to his lap; waiting for the soldier to say something.

John had always known Sherlock had a weakness for chocolate and he had looked forward to giving him the treat he had picked up at one of their favorite bakeries. But to have the detective so compliant and trusting, waiting so patiently on him stirred far too many thoughts for the Dom inside. To see those stark features virtually transformed by happiness over his treat was astounding. John did not think he had ever seen Sherlock look more beautiful than at that moment and knowing he had been able to give that pleasure stirred a fierce happiness of his own. Just as quickly as that thought made its way into his mind, the detective had that finger in his mouth sucking greedily at the whipped cream and John found his thoughts instantly diverted to other less than pure thoughts. Thoughts of Sherlock's lips around something else, sucking so happily, humming in pleasure around his...NO! He was not going to fantasize about Sherlock. Those days were in the past, he had Mycroft now. His resolve held until the second finger full of whipped topping disappeared into that sinful mouth and every attempt to picture Myc turned into curly black hair and full lips with a cupid's bow. When he finally noticed Sherlock had stopped and was watching him, he flushed warmly before forcibly pulling himself together and clearing his throat gruffly as he held his hand out.

"I did bring you a spoon you know."

Sherlock said nothing, merely reaching forward to take the spoon from John's hand. He lowered his head and resumed enjoying his tart, waiting while his doctor calmed himself and took his seat to start on his own tart. Perhaps he didn't have to work as hard at his plan as he thought. They ate in silence, John slowly relaxing back into the movie, chuckling at the aliens and their antics. Sherlock relished every bite of his tart, making it last as long as he could and sighing when there was nothing left but a few crumbs of the shortbread crust. He heard John snickering beside him and glanced up sharply.

"I did buy more than two, you know. You can have some more if you like."

Sherlock perked up instantly and gave John a broad smile before seeing the repressed humor in his friend's face. He pointedly set the small dish on the table and squared his shoulders. "I'm quite full, John. No sense in making myself sick, I'll have some more tomorrow." John merely smiled brightly and said 'Okay' but the detective knew he was being humored. He turned sideways on the sofa and promptly stuck his feet under John's thighs, smiling at the curse he elicited.

"Christ! Give a man some warning next time!"

It was so much like old times, it made Sherlock's heart ache a bit, even as he chuckled. But he would have plenty more times like these with John, he would make sure of it. Not surprisingly, having his belly full as well as being warm and safe with John allowed the detective to relax. Before he knew it, he wasn't thinking so much about his plan. He was just enjoying being near John. The second movie wrapped up and they briefly discussed a third, finally opting to grab some more wine and start the next one.

Sherlock had not taken his new medication and his full stomach into account, in conjunction with his alcohol intake. He had barely started on the half glass he held when he started to get drowsy, his head nodding slightly though he shook himself awake repeatedly. He lost complete track of the movie and the time, rousing himself one time to find his head on John's shoulder. As he mumbled an apology, John just chuckled and coaxed him to lie down.

"Come on then. The movie is almost over, so why don't you lay here like a good little boy while I finish up, and then I'll tuck you into bed." As he spoke, he gently pushed and pulled the pliant detective until his curls rested against a firm thigh.

Sherlock thought distantly that he should resent being talked to like a small child, but he didn't, not really. Letting John take care of him seemed as natural as breathing and made him feel safe and loved. The detective merely did as instructed and snuggled into his doctor's lap.

John drew the blanket off the back of the sofa and spread it over his charge, absently rubbing over his back and shoulders while the younger man hummed happily, soon dozing again. John continued to sip his wine and watch the film, barely registering when his hand made its way into those dark curls. The sudden thought of how very right it felt to tend to Sherlock in this way, to have him compliant in his hands, drew his attention down to the man in question. How he did love him. John smiled fondly as the pressure of his fingers to the warm scalp brought a small purr and a slight smile to the sleeping man's face. He was so lost in his thoughts that the sound of his text alert in the quiet flat startled him. He quickly reached for his phone and opened the message.

'You are aware that, in his own way, my brother is attempting to seduce you.'-MH

John should have known Myc was keeping tabs on things at home. He smiled as he quickly sent his reply.

'Yes. It took me longer than a Holmes of course, but I am aware.'-JW

He quickly followed that message with another one.

'Advice?'-JW

It took a few moments before he got an answer.

'I trust you to do what you think is best. We have already discussed this and I shall not hold any action you deem appropriate against you.'-MH

It didn't help John much but he shook his head fondly as he replied.

'I do love you, you know.'-JW

The response coming almost on top of his this time.

'Yes, I know. And I you. Good-night, love. Do give Sleeping Beauty a kiss for me.'-MH

John couldn't help his giggle at that, but it didn't seem to disturb Sherlock at any rate.

'I'll be certain to do that. Good-night.'-JW

The credits were already rolling as John tucked his phone away and shook Sherlock gently to rouse him enough to move. "Come on Princess, let's get you to bed now." He helped push the detective up until he sat groggily on the sofa, then pulled at his hands to get him moving. "Get up now, I refuse to carry you to the bed." Something about that statement made Sherlock snicker loudly. It had to be the most ungraceful sound John had ever heard the detective make and he chuckled himself. Slowly but surely he got Sherlock to the loo to relieve himself and into his bed. He was already asleep again as John pulled the blankets over his shoulders. The doctor watched him for a few moments before reaching forward and tenderly brushing the thick curls off Sherlock's brow before he leaned over and placed a kiss there instead. He pulled back enough to see the flicker of a smile cross those perfect lips before he brushed his own over them, kissing lightly and whispering against the warm mouth. "Good-night Sherlock."

He left the detective to hopefully pleasant dreams and went upstairs to bed. He could clean up the rest of the mess tomorrow.

{*} {*} {*}

Apparently the casual intimacy of last night translated into permission to approach John at will. Sherlock let himself touch John every time they passed each other, invading personal space just as he had done before his absence. He had kept himself somewhat distant given the situation with Mycroft but now reverted to his previous behavior with gusto.

He glanced up as John entered the sitting room, obviously ready for work. "I'll be off Sherlock. Have to check in at the office and see what's up today. I should be home for dinner at any rate if not before. I'll text if there is a problem." John paused in his attempts to fix his tie and looked over his friend. "You will be alright here alone, won't you?"

Sherlock waved his concern away absently, "Certainly John. I have felt quite well this week, almost like my old self." John didn't fail to notice the almost but still it was an improvement, he glanced back down at the tie which refused to lay properly.

"Here." Sherlock rose gracefully from his chair, "Let me do it." Staring into John's eyes with a smug little smirk, he slowly untied the entire knot, slipping the silken material around the suddenly tense neck to position it correctly. His gaze never left John's as he carefully moved through the motions, tying the tie expertly without even looking.

John tried to look away, to stare at something else in the room while Sherlock did up his tie. But he found he was unable to look away from those eyes that had arrested his attention so many times before. Almost verdigris in color today, he lost himself in the slowly heating stare, the warmth of Sherlock's body standing so close to his own. He could just feel the subtle brush of those long fingers at his throat, completing their task from memory as Sherlock's eyes bore into his soul. The occasional flicker of arousal began to bloom into the radiating heat of want, and John clenched his hands tightly against his thighs to stop himself from simply taking what he had desired for so long. It was wrong, he couldn't do that no matter what Mycroft thought; he wasn't that kind of man. He tried to breath in through his nose and out through his mouth but Sherlock's personal scent still assailed his mind. And he knew Sherlock saw it all, observed it all, through his wide open eyes fixated on the man before him.

"There," Sherlock's spoke as he slid the knot into place at John's throat, voice sounding husky to both men, "all done." He reached up and brushed his hands over John's shoulders before trailing them slowly over the firm chest, moving downwards. He was pleased with the hitch in John's breathing as his hands moved, even more so when he noticed the slight bulge forming in the fitted trousers. "You look perfectly presentable." Sherlock couldn't stop himself from pushing, he wanted so much more than this. He leaned forward until his lips just brushed over John's and breathed, "Practically...edible." Then he pressed his lips softly against John's, kissing him swiftly before pulling back. "Best be on your way then."

John cleared his throat gruffly, nodding his head before he turned smartly and left.

Sherlock sighed and returned to his seat.  _Too much_ , he questioned to himself. Or perhaps he should have pushed further. John certainly seemed amenable, he didn't resist nor push him away. He simply had no background with which to interpret his observations. He slumped into his chair resigned to another long, boring day without John. He needed to get back to work, he thought, but he just couldn't bring himself to face the prospect as yet. Especially without John at his side.

Meanwhile John fumed in the back of the black sedan while Clarence navigated their way through London to his office. How could he just stand there and let Sherlock do that? How could he respond to him like that when he was perfectly satisfied in every way with Mycroft? He ground his teeth and thumped his fist against the window in frustration. He was drawn from his musings by a text alert.

'Stop beating yourself up.'-MH

John just shook his head. Of course Mycroft would know what he needed. He was about to reply when the second text came through.

'I told you to do whatever you felt was best. Nevertheless, I shall be home tomorrow. Perhaps an evening out is in order. Club?'-MH

John's fingers practically flew across the keyboard in reply.

'Yes! Some time at the club may be just what I need after this week. That and some time alone with you.'-JH

He could just picture Mycroft's smile when he read that message. The imagined smile echoed on his face as another message came in.

'I shall see to the arrangements with Geoffrey at once. I look forward to our time together, John.'-MH

John pocketed his phone, cheered by the prospect of some pleasant hours of play tomorrow. His annoyance and worry over Sherlock soon forgotten in happy anticipation.

{*} {*} {*}


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock paced the floor, obviously frustrated as he alternated clutching and pulling his hair with gesticulating in irritation at the flat in general. Anyone witnessing his current state of unrest and hearing the constant mumbling beneath his breath would assume he was disturbed. They would have been correct too, though the actual cause would have eluded the observer.

Everything had been going so well. Sherlock had felt almost normal this week; and he nearly had John, he knew it. All that was needed was a bit more time to work his wiles on his stubborn friend. However, time was no longer on his side. At this very moment, John was upstairs getting dressed before Mycroft swooped in and carried him off on some date; carried him away from 221B, leaving Sherlock alone again. He had been in a right state ever since John had told him about Mycroft's imminent return home at dinner the night before. He was so rattled, it had thrown off his game in attempted seduction, rendering last night nearly useless. Now he needed to do something decisive to win John over...to make him stay...but he couldn't seem to reach a rational conclusion as to what that could be.

John paused in the door to the sitting room, watching Sherlock's pointed pacing and trying to make sense of the low murmurings he could hear. He knew Sherlock had been upset when he informed him Mycroft would be home today, and he understood. It had been nice being together this week, almost what could have been between them if the Fall had never happened. A part of him regretted leaving this behind, but he had a life with Mycroft to get on with, regardless of what Sherlock wanted. John wished he knew how to make it easier for his friend to deal with, but the answers wouldn't come; Sherlock had only himself to blame for the way things were now. Not that John would point that out. Finally he stepped into the room, clearing his throat loudly to get Sherlock's attention; waiting would only delay the inevitable.

Sherlock spun around sharply at the sound, ready to spew decisive reason at John, only to have the words die in his throat when he saw the man before him. His adam's apple bobbed convulsively and his mouth suddenly felt dry as he stared. He had never seen John like this; this man belonged to no one. Sherlock for once wasn't certain what gave him that impression but he felt it just the same.

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock, well accustomed to his assessing stares, but there was something else behind that look this time. It only took a moment for him to realize Sherlock had never seen him dressed for a night at the club, seen him intentionally dressed to be a Dom. Nothing he could do about that other than let Sherlock look his fill and be done. John widened his stance, standing military straight with his arms crossed over his chest. Head up, chin out, and eyes on the detective, he waited for a biting critique. An entirely inappropriate surge of arousal washed through him as he saw Sherlock's gaze rake over his form hungrily. It was the way he often felt when he faced a new sub, waiting for their decision to accept him or not, to play or not...to submit to him...for him. This only led his mind back to thoughts of Sherlock as his sub and his conversation with Mycroft. His cock throbbed sharply, literally twitching in his trousers at the thought; he had to inhale sharply through his nose and close his eyes as he attempted to shove those thoughts into the deepest, most isolated part of his mind. He was not about to lose his control now.

Sherlock had been frozen in place by the image John presented; having no idea why it affected him so. He had seen John dressed nicely to go out before. _But not like this_ , an insistent voice in his head supplied. He let his gaze skim over John again, taking in every detail. His sandy ash blond hair was freshly trimmed with military precision, the barest bit of product in place to create a casually tousled look. He wore a royal blue, silken shirt, vivid against John's skin; the particular shade highlighting the color of the doctor's own eyes, the usual blue orbs deepened to a rich cornflower. The sleeves shifted and strained over his arms, emphasising the defined musculature there while the cuffs buttoned snuggly at the wrists; only the top two buttons were left open to reveal the strong column of John's collarless throat. Something about that made Sherlock take a quick shuddering breath before he continued. A sleek watch with a black leather band circled his right wrist snuggly, matching the black trousers fitted tightly to John's muscular thighs and over the smooth swell of his arse. _At least Mycroft has introduced John to a proper tailor finally._ The trousers were creased sharply down the front, leading the eye lower to the finely crafted black leather boots; not heavy clunky things like John often wore when they were running about on cases. These were elegant and refined with the smallest bit of a heel to aid the illusion of stature John created about himself.

Sherlock took it all in, an unknown hunger filling him; he knew he needed John...but this was something more, something deeper. John stood before him, his stance exuding power and command. He was jolted by a sudden flash of memory, suddenly recalling being brought to his knees by this man...not just his John. This was his _Captain_! He shuddered again and took an unconscious step forward as though drawn like a moth to a flame. He noticed when John took a sudden deep breath and closed his eyes, though otherwise he did not move at all. Sherlock trailed his piercing gaze over the image he was presented with once more, this time noting the indications of arousal. He was unable to stop the smirk on his face as he realized that all may not be as hopeless as he had originally thought. Of course that was the moment John chose to open his eyes.

The knowing smirk on Sherlock's face was the first thing John observed. The fact that the detective had drawn closer, was the second. He knew at once that Sherlock had noticed his response and thought he could capitalize on it. However, John had no intentions of allowing that to happen. He glanced at his watch and quickly broke the lingering tension between them. "Mycroft will be here with the car shortly, so I'll just head down to meet him. Rather eager to get to our date and some time together now that he is home." He ignored the look of disgust that clouded Sherlock's face and turned to retrieve his coat. He slipped on the charcoal grey wool, fitted closely to his body and breaking at the tops of his thighs, it completed his presentation of power perfectly. He ignored the still fuming detective as he began to fasten the row of buttons. Meant to keep out the cold, they also echoed his military past and emphasised his bearing; he had learned well from Mycroft, image and presentation were important components for a Dom. It was just as well, spring was in the air but London evenings still left one chilled to the bone without adequate protection. His gloves were in hand and he was ready to depart before he bothered to give Sherlock his attention again. While he meant to merely say goodnight, the detective had other plans.

Sherlock's smugness dissolved into confusion when John broke their connection so brusquely. He knew what he saw, John wanted him. So why was he buttoning up his coat, a perfectly sinful wool concoction that hugged his torso, emphasising his _assets_ as it were, and reaching for his gloves. John was leaving, literally about to walk out the door, and Sherlock couldn't have it. There wasn't even a conscious plan in mind, but when John turned to speak, he practically threw himself at the man.

John didn't get the chance to speak, finding the tall body pressed against him and long arms wrapped around his shoulders in a desperate hug. He huffed out a laugh and put his arms around Sherlock, returning the hug lightly. But the lanky detective did not let go, instead he seemed to shrink himself until he was nuzzling against John's cheek and neck.

"Please don't go."

John tried to extricate himself but Sherlock only clung tighter.

"It's been so good having you with me. You make everything better. Please don't leave me alone again. I know you want to stay...this is where you've always belonged." Sherlock pressed his cheek to John's, letting his warm breath ghost over the other man's ear as he spoke low and seductive. "I know you want me, John. You can have me if you stay. We can do that...I can give you everything you ever wanted...everything you need."

John was briefly stymied by Sherlock's words, though not surprised. Mycroft and he had been expecting something like this to happen. However, the more the detective spoke the angrier John became. Angry that Sherlock thought he would just cave to his whims, that he could be manipulated so easily. He couldn't deny the truth of wanting the sinfully delicious creature in his arms, but the very idea that Sherlock thought he would betray Mycroft so readily was the final insult. Sherlock had no knowledge of the man John had become, neither what he wanted or needed at this point in his life. He didn't know what he was dealing with now. With a growl in his throat, John grasped the thin waist and shoved Sherlock away from his chest, his fiery gaze reflecting his displeasure.

Sherlock clung tightly to John's shoulders and did not go far when John tried to push him away. He saw the anger in those clear blue eyes but misunderstood the cause, thinking John was merely angry at himself for his desires. Then he felt as much as saw the word 'No' forming on John's lips, the word he could not bear to hear. He lunged forward to silence John before the word could escape. His hands cupping John's face as he brought their mouths together in a desperate, sloppy, inexperienced kiss.

As it turned out, John was ill prepared for such blatant actions from Sherlock, freezing in shock until a more primal reaction took over. He had taken control of the kiss before he even realized he had acted. One hand tangled into dark curls and held tightly, angling the willing head in order to claim the moist warm mouth more fully. His other hand pulled the detective tightly against him, rubbing possessively up the long back then back down until he cupped one lush cheek in his palm, humming in feral pleasure as he ground their rapidly filling erections together. He smiled against those full lips at the needy whine he heard from the man now at his mercy and reveled in the eager frantic rutting against him. It was only the uncertainty he could detect when Sherlock softly gasped his name before it was swallowed by another kiss that finally brought John back to some sense of reason.

He quickly spun the detective, pressing his back against the wall beside the door and breaking the kiss to look him over critically. Arousal was obvious; pupils dilated, lips slightly parted as Sherlock panted softly, and slim hips still rutting unconsciously seeking friction for the swollen cock tenting his trousers. But beneath the arousal there was more; inexperience, uncertainty, and the faintest trace of fear, all red flags to the Dom. John knew without a doubt that Sherlock trusted him implicitly and for once he could properly deduce the source of the fear he saw. Sherlock was not just afraid of him leaving, he seemed to be afraid of what he was doing...what was happening between them even as he obviously craved it on some subconscious level. John briefly considered what to do, as far as they knew Sherlock's knowledge of carnal pleasure was strictly theoretical; his practical knowledge represented a glaring gap in the vast scope of what the man knew. John was already angry at himself for being pushed into acting on his own desires, he would not exacerbate those feelings by adding guilt to the mix for pushing Sherlock any further. However, he now faced the challenge of ending this face off without damaging their friendship.

Sherlock hadn't moved or spoken since John put his back to the wall. He was still trying to process the overwhelming sensations and input he was receiving from his own body. He only meant to stop John from leaving but things had escalated and now he wasn't sure what was happening. He wanted more, wanted John to give it to him, but he wasn't exactly sure what 'it' was; he felt out of control and unsettled, a frisson of anxiety and panic playing at the edges of his consciousness. He inhaled deeply, seeking some stability, fully aware that John was watching...assessing as only a doctor could. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall, waiting for John. If anything, he was fully aware that John was in control now and not him; he was beginning to doubt he was ever in control of the situation to start with. The gruff sound of a clearing throat prompted him to open his eyes and meet John's gaze.

John let his gaze roam over Sherlock's body in a way that made the detective tremble with want until the doctor reached out one hand and traced a finger over his prominent erection, causing him to hiss softly. "Rather impressive considering the rest of you, Sherlock." John reached the tip, letting his finger rub a gentle circle over the head before he removed his slight touch. "I suppose you would like something done about that, hmm? Like for _me_ to do something about it?"

Sherlock swallowed thickly and forced his voice to work, nodding his head to emphasise his words. "Yes, please. Only you." Despite the appalling need he could hear in his own words, Sherlock continued, "Anything for you, John. You can have anything you want from me, do anything you want...if you'll only stay." He couldn't control the abject pleading nor the thrust of his hips as he tried to bring himself into contact with John once again, the need to be closer nearly overriding any other thought or emotion.

John silently fumed over Sherlock's complete lack of guile and utter cluelessness, fighting the urge to punch the wall just beside the detective's head. Sighing heavily, he pushed himself away from the temptation before him, taking a large step back to put some distance between them. "That's not how it works, Sherlock. You don't even understand what you are asking for," those cupid's-bow lips opened to protest and John silenced them with an upheld hand, "even if your body clearly wants it. This is not something you can understand in here," John reached out and gently touched Sherlock's forehead.

"You have to understand in here," his finger drifted down until it pressed over the thrum of the detective's heart. "Sex, making love...it's...well...it is not just mutual desire. It is giving and taking equally, giving and receiving pleasure to and for each other, trusting your partner to care for you when you shatter apart. At times surrendering control to the other person but never, _never_ sacrificing what you are not equipped to give in order to achieve a goal. Doing something like that damages the soul, Sherlock. And frankly, I'm afraid you've done far too much of that to survive already."

John glared sharply at the pale detective to make his feelings in the matter quite clear. "I am your friend and your doctor; I am committed to helping you heal from all you have been through. And yes, by god, I want you!" His hands clenched convulsively into fists at his side to prevent any rash movements. He stared at the wall behind Sherlock, collecting himself before he could meet Sherlock's gaze once more. "For me to take advantage of your offer would be wrong, you can understand the implications and consequences, I would never be the cause of more harm." He reached down to collect his gloves, dropped in the flurry of their earlier actions before then glanced at his watch again. "Now I really have to be going. I trust you will keep yourself out of trouble tonight and I will check in on you tomorrow." When he looked expectantly at his friend, a single nod was all the reply he was given, the barest inclination of the dark head. John returned the nod sharply, "Goodnight then, Sherlock."

And then he was gone, leaving an aroused and confused detective behind still trying to unravel what had just happened.

{*} {*} {*}

It didn't take a genius to figure out something had John a bit unsettled, nor was it hard to deduce _whom_ that something might be. Not that Mycroft was going to argue when his fiance promptly straddled his lap once he was in the car, kissing and grinding against him with unrestrained passion. He let John vent himself in this way without pushing him further, only managing to speak once his soldier had calmed, breaking the heated kiss and sitting back on his lap. "Well _Hello_! I missed you too." He smiled sardonically, quirking an amused eyebrow at his lover. "I did expect that you would be in charge tonight but should we return home instead of proceeding to the club?"

John smirked in return, "That's funny...really, coming from the man who put me in this situation in the first place. I should take you home and make you pay for the torment I have suffered." He sighed pointedly, "But I have been looking forward to the club, and some time alone with you." With a gentle parting kiss, he slid from Mycroft's lap and into his normal seat before reaching forward to tap on the divider. "We can go now Clarence." No reply was needed for the next moment the sedan merged smoothly into traffic. Clarence didn't bother with what his employer and his partner did in the backseat but he was a stickler for safety and preferred not to move until his charges were safely restrained.

Mycroft smiled, reaching over to clasp John's hands in his own. "Little brother got to be a bit much? Or did he work up the courage to act on his feelings?"

John actually looked surprised, "What? You weren't watching?"

Mycroft brow furrowed a bit and he shook his head slightly, "No. I was occupied with a last minute overseas call just before I arrived."

"Well then, the answers are, yes, and yes." John ran one hand through his hair before scratching the back of his neck. "I'm sorry My...I don't think I behaved very honorably with him. He thinks I can snap my fingers and make everything be the way he wants and it simply won't work. I don't think he understands that still, but I gave him plenty to think about before I left."

Mycroft smiled softly and gave John's hand a gentle squeeze. "As always, I am certain you did what you thought was best in the situation. For now, I think you should put Sherlock out of your mind and focus on your own needs for tonight. You have been taking care of my brother for weeks now. I would say that now you are the one in need of care and I intend to see that you get that tonight." He leaned over to bestow his own kiss on his beleaguered fiance.

John sighed happily, even if he was going to act as Dom tonight, he knew he could rely on Mycroft to still be taking care of him. They spent the rest of the ride to the club discussing Mycroft's trip, John's work, anything but Sherlock and 221B Baker Street.

{*} {*} {*}

In no time they were emerging from the sedan in front of the private entrance to the most exclusive club in London, catering to those interested in less standard pursuits in their sex play. It didn't even have a name; candidates had to be referred by a member in good standing and once approved, members were given a card with only the physical address of the place. All members merely referred to it as The Club, appreciating the privacy and anonymity their money bought.

Mycroft dismissed Clarence for the night. Never knowing how long they might be there, he would simply summon one of his government drivers when they were ready to go home; assuming they didn't just stay in their private suite at the club. They were shown directly to the owner as soon as they arrived.

Geoffrey St. James was not what you might expect in the owner of a sex club. Tall and broad with piercing eyes, he could easily strike fear into any guest guilty of misconduct. However, Mycroft knew for a fact that the man was a confirmed sub in a committed relationship with an international financier. That being the case, he was the epitome of absolute discretion. He greeted them both with a reserved yet cordial smile, eying their gloved hands before he offered his own in greeting. John could not imagine how the man functioned as a sub when he was a chronic and severe germaphobe. Geoffrey would not shake any uncovered hand, and any physical contact beyond a gloved handshake was strictly forbidden unless you wished to instantly lose your membership. All in all, Geoffrey was a man of most interesting contradictions. The thought that Sherlock would love to spend some time observing him crossed John's mind before he once more forced the detective from his thoughts for the night.

"Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson. It is good to see you both again, it has been far too long since we've enjoyed your patronage. I have your area prepared and some of your favorites have been made available. Do you have any particulars in mind for the evening?" He glanced meaningfully between the two until Mycroft spoke up.

"Tonight shall be for Dr. Watson's pleasure, Geoffrey. Whatever he desires." Their host nodded, turning his attention to John.

John tilted his head in thought for a moment considering. "Nothing out of the ordinary tonight, I don't believe Geoffrey. A light meal and a bit of play will be fine if you would like to show us whom you have selected." There was a glance towards Mycroft that John could not decipher, before the host nodded and motioned them forward. Escorting them to a sort of waiting or holding area just beyond the dressing rooms but before you entered the club proper, their host stepped back and waited for John to make his choice.

There were three men, all collared and barefooted, dressed in black silk robes with their eyes lowered in submission, stepping forward eagerly at Geoffrey's sharp snap. John eyed each of them in turn, recognizing them all as subs he had played with before at The Club. That certainly made the negotiations easier and allowed the play to go more smoothly as they both knew what to expect from the other. It was one of the advantages of the club; management kept records of who played with whom regularly to facilitate better experiences overall.

John's eye was repeatedly drawn to the lean figure of one of the men but he still took his time looking them over one by one. He stepped up to the nearest man, motioning at the robe, Captain Watson's voice commanding firmly. "Open. Present." The blond quickly complied, untying his robe and spreading it open to display himself fully for the Dom's perusal. While pleasing, he was not quite what John wanted tonight. He motioned for the man to cover himself as he moved on to the next in line. He repeated the same order and made the same careful study, still not satisfied. Dismissing the second sub, he at last stood before the man who had first caught his interest. Tall and slim, with pale skin and a throat he could nearly span with one hand, John felt the interested twitch from his cock as he stood in front of the patient sub.

Evan was his name, a model and actor by trade who loved losing himself in service to a Dom regularly. He said it kept him relaxed in a stressful and demanding career. It also led to occasional changes in Evan's appearance, depending on the job he was doing. John had seen him as a wavy blond, a straight brunet, and a spiky ginger so far. Regardless of appearance, all their play together before had been highly satisfying for both Dom and sub. Still, tonight's change seemed to be stirring John far more than any other guise. Tonight Evan's thick hair was grown out a bit, dyed a velvety blue-black and styled into a riot of curls on his head. John tried hard not to acknowledge the resemblance to Sherlock as he ordered the sub to open his robe. The last thing he needed on his mind when he played was Sherlock bloody Holmes. Black silk parted over pale flesh and dusky nipples stood erect, already aroused from the silk and his attention. John eyed him from the slim throat down to the black Armani briefs that fit low on the narrow hips and held an already hardening cock snugly in check. Evan appeared quite eager and excited to play tonight.

"Drop the robe." John ordered, then watched as the silk slithered off the sub's shoulders and pooled on the floor. "Turn." The young man quickly turned, offering John a view of his long lean back. John reached up to grip the long neck briefly before trailing his hand down the expanse of pale skin to the swell of cotton clad arse. He used both hands to caress and cup the cheeks that filled his palms generously, gripping each firmly before releasing the sub and stepping back. "Turn." The sub did as commanded and awaited his next order. John simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a coil of leather, stretching it out before reaching up to clip the end to the ring in the front of Evan's collar. "Follow." John turned, clearly in charge now, ignoring the other men and walking out of the holding area towards their private lounge, leading the young man now clad in only pants and his collar.

John did not see Geoffrey slip a fifty pound note into Mycroft's gloved palm. "You were correct as always, Mister Holmes."

Mycroft slipped the note into his pocket with a sly smile, "Indeed, Geoffrey. One of these days you will learn not to gamble with me. I know my fiance's needs better than he does himself."

The host gave a tilt of his head to acknowledge the truth of the statement. "You are very good to Doctor Watson, one of our most beneficial partnerships I believe."

Mycroft's gaze turned thoughtful, trailing after his fiance. "I shall always take care of John, just as I shall always give him exactly what he needs; no matter what it may entail." With a slight bow to Geoffrey, he turned and followed in John's wake, content to observe and assist as John desired.

At least for this portion of the night.

{*} {*} {*}

Sherlock couldn't bring himself to move as he listened to the sounds of John's retreating footsteps, punctuated by the soft click of the door opening and closing behind him. He didn't understand what had just happened. All the signs were there, John wanted him just as much as he wanted the diminutive blond. Yet John had refused him. Was Mycroft's hold on him truly so strong? He tried to dissect what John had told him but still failed to comprehend. He understood the mechanics of sex, how could sex with John cause him harm? He was willingly offering...but John said no. Apparently he needed much more data.

It was as he reached this conclusion that his subconscious thought processes caught up with his conscious, informing him that he never heard the car pull away from the flat. That knowledge finally prompted him to move. Stepping to the window he glanced down to see Mycroft's car still parked at the curb. It appeared opportunity was in his favor; he was still rather painfully aroused but he found he was able to dismiss the sensation in lieu of action. He knew they were going out, going somewhere quite different than a fancy restaurant judging by John's clothing and manner. Knowing he would never make any headway with John without knowledge, he soon had his coat in hand as he raced down the stairs determined to follow the two men. He had followed John plenty of times before, Mycroft too for that matter; though he usually just did that for practice as he was more of a challenge to keep track of. He had to hone his skills somewhere.

Sherlock stopped at the door, listening until he heard the car pulling away. He was out of the door and hailing a taxi before Mycroft's car had even reached the end of the street. Pointing the vehicle out to the taxi driver, he offered triple the fare if they could keep up with the car until it reached its destination. The cabbie only blinked once before nodding and pulling out after the dark sedan. Sherlock sat back, keeping an eye on the sedan's route but smirking to himself; being able to deduce the cabbie's financial need worked well for his own. He would get to the bottom of this and claim John for his own.

{*} {*} {*}

Despite a few near misses and several scrapes through traffic lights, the cabbie did indeed keep John and Mycroft within view until the car turned out of sight next to what looked like a large manor in the heart of London. It took little effort for Sherlock to identify what must be private parking for a secluded entrance. What exactly the entrance was to, he could not say, but he quickly paid the cabbie his well earned bonus and made his way to the corner of the building. Through a break in the hedge, Sherlock could see John and Mycroft exit the car and enter a door set in the side of the building. Now certain of their destination, he had to determine the best way to follow.

He made a circuit of the building, finding no other obvious entrances, no name indicating the function of the establishment, and it was a place he had not been before. He leaned against the brick wall, considering the best course of action. He'd had plenty of time to hone these skills during his time away; he did not doubt he could find a way to access the building and locate John and Mycroft without detection. Mind made up, he straightened and turned smartly into the covered entrance, striding purposefully toward the door and the discreetly dressed steward. He had just plastered a smile on his face and opened his mouth to speak when he got the first of many surprises to come tonight.

"Mister Holmes! What an unexpected honor! I do not believe you have graced our establishment with your presence before but your membership has always been kept in the best of standings." Sherlock nearly took a step back in shock but managed to contain his reaction to merely widening his eyes for an instant before returning to his normal demeanor. "Your brother and Doctor Watson have already arrived for the evening, will you be joining them or exploring on your own?"

Sherlock gave that question a brief thought before replying. "I am not certain. As you say, it is my first time here. I may explore before I greet them, if that is acceptable?"

"Absolutely. Whatever you desire, Mister Holmes."

Sherlock thought he detected a tone of subtle amusement in the steward's voice but failed to deduce the cause. He merely waited while the steward punched a code into the small machine at his kiosk, receiving a slim piece of plastic in return.

"Here you are Mister Holmes. The card will allow you access to all public areas and may be used for any food or drink charges, not to mention other necessities as needed. Please go right in, Anne will attend you and see that you are acclimated properly. Please enjoy your evening and selections."

Sherlock accepted the black card, blank except for the street address across the lower left corner in gold text and a gold diamond in the upper right corner. The back of the card was just as empty, save the magnetic strip which carried whatever encoded information was needed. He was distracted trying to imagine what _other_ necessities might be required here beyond food and drink, and wondered absently what the man meant by selections, but finally he remembered to thank the man as he tucked the card into his pocket and proceeded into the building.

Just inside he was met with the sight of a young woman dressed smartly, albeit rather provocatively he thought. She was sitting at a small desk with her ankles crossed primly but the slit up her narrow skirt and the plunging neckline of her blouse left little to the imagination. Sherlock supposed that must be the point, here to attract one of the wealthy patrons no doubt. She rose promptly and greeted him in a friendly but business-like manner.

"Mister Holmes, the younger, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. The club is at your disposal. Normally I would take you to meet Mister St. James, but he is with another client at the moment. Would you care to wait or go on in?"

Not wanting to risk losing track of his quarry, he answered promptly, "I believe I would like to go in. I've heard so much about the place from Mycroft, I am eager to see if any of it is true." Sherlock lied easily, flashing "Anne" his most congenial smile.

As usual he was quite convincing and the striking brunette gave him a real smile as she answered this time. "Very well." She turned towards the double doors at the end of the vestibule, gesturing as she gave him basic directions. "The parlor to the left is for dressing and the parlor to the right is used as our meet up or holding area depending on what is arranged. If you go straight through you will enter the club proper with the bar to your right. The central area is for socializing and negotiations. VIP lounges along the sides and upper tier are considered private unless you are invited in. Public scenes are arranged ahead of time for the main stage. The areas dedicated to particular forms of play are downstairs and personal suites are on the two upper floors."

Sherlock was a bit confused by her descriptions, but he would work out the details when she stopped talking and let him go in. The hostess had paused, turning to him with a knowing smile.

"Of course you are entitled to access to the same VIP lounge and personal suite as your brother as the membership is in both of your names, however, if you ever desire a private area for yourself you only need to speak to Mister St. James." Sherlock merely nodded in pseudo-understanding, still wondering why his brother had both of their names on a membership at a club he knew nothing about, but that seemed to be enough for the hostess who continued. "Well, I believe that does it. I do hope you enjoy your evening with us enough to motivate a return visit soon." She had moved to return to her desk and Sherlock had taken the first stride towards the double doors before she remembered something. "I'm sorry Mister Holmes. I almost forgot the most important thing." Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question. "When you meet Mister St. James, a gloved handshake is the only form of touch allowed. If you do not have gloves then simply nod respectfully and do not attempt to shake hands. It is our most stringent rule. To break it means immediate dismissal from the club."

Given his own aversion to anyone but John, and sometimes Mycroft, touching him, Sherlock did not see that this rule would be a problem. He smirked as he replied, "I'll be certain to keep that in mind." The hostess returned to her desk, confident she had completed her task admirably. Sherlock quickly pushed open the double doors before she could speak again. He had only taken a few steps forward, approaching the archways that led into the parlors, when he heard John's voice. He froze. Not just John's voice, he heard Captain Watson. Not wanting to be seen, he quickly ducked into the parlor to the left. It was mercifully empty at the moment and he absently catalogued the benches, lockers and suitcases stored around the room before he leaned against the wall and peered out of the narrow sliver he had left open instead of closing the door all the way.

In a few moments he was able to watch as John came out of the parlour across from him. While he had expected John and Mycroft, he could not have anticipated a stoic looking John leading a nearly naked man by a leash attached to a collar around his neck. Sherlock barely managed to stop himself from confronting John right then to ask what was going on, only the sight of Mycroft emerging from the parlour kept him in his hiding spot. He watched the interplay between Mycroft and the large man, noted the cash that was slipped to his brother and wondered what was wagered or sold to require the payment. Mycroft took his leave and followed after John while the other man headed out to the entrance, ostensibly to speak to the hostess.

Sherlock waited a full minute before escaping his post and making his way further into the club. So many questions filled his mind, yet the conflicting stimuli and input were making it impossible to deduce the situation accurately. Forced to curse and concede that his mind was still not back to normal, not remotely functioning at peak capacity; he still wanted answers. Oddly enough, however, a small part of him was excited by the uncertainty. He felt the same kind of adrenaline and stimulation he enjoyed when on a case, starting to build as he passed through the heavy velvet curtains just past the parlour entrances.

{*} {*} {*}

John had begun to relax as soon as they stepped through the club's doors. This had become the place he most closely associated with escaping from any of the stresses of day-to-day, second only to his home with Mycroft. He let his Captain's persona bleed forth as he selected a sub for the night, and the mantle of Dom settled fully when he clipped his lead to the collar at Evan's throat. Conversation was not required as he made his way to their lounge, the sub would follow as commanded, so John allowed his thoughts to turn to Mycroft and just what he thought he was up to now.

Oh, he might be a bit slower than his fiance but he also knew him better than anyone, even Anthea. He should have been suspicious when Mycroft said he would make the arrangements. There were never any arrangements to be made unless they had very special requests. John glanced back at the sub, dark head bowed and hands clasped behind his back, a habit of training. He couldn't help but wonder if Mycroft had anything to do with Evan's new job, or even if there was a job. Honestly, he knew he couldn't put it past Mycroft to have simply gotten the young actor to dye his hair and style it to look as much like Sherlock as possible.

John was unable to decide how he felt about the possibilities. Did Mycroft doubt him so much? Was this some test of his resolve not to let Sherlock come between them? Given his knowledge of Mycroft's self sacrificing nature when it came to his happiness, John suspected that it was more of an attempt to get him to face up to his own desires and admit that he wanted Sherlock. But Mycroft knew that already, so it had to be something more. Perhaps merely a challenge, to see how he might handle Sherlock as a sub.

But this was not Sherlock, despite the markedly similar appearance, this was Evan. A young man who enjoyed his submission, who was a bit too fond of John and tolerated Mycroft in order to play with the Dom he wanted. Scarily enough, when he thought of it like that, Evan sounded a bit like Sherlock too. Well, on a good day. The thought only made John more frustrated and did not help him stay in the proper frame of mind for tonight's play. He would need a few moments.

Entering the lounge, he led Evan to the small dais in the center of the area. "Pants off. Then kneel." The sub didn't hesitate to strip off his pants, folding them and setting them aside, unashamedly revealing his obvious arousal to the Dom before he quickly knelt in the center of the dais. John clipped the other end of the lead to a metal ring in the floor. He stepped back, watching as the sub straightened and spread his knees further, assuming a presentation pose without prompting. John nodded in appreciation, stepping forward to run his gloved fingers through the tousled curls. "That's a good boy. Now…" John gripped the boy's hair firmly and tilted his head back until their eyes met, "Safeword?" Despite their history, he would take nothing for granted and safewords sometimes changed.

Evan smiled briefly, then winked as he replied, "Bananas." John blinked in surprise then narrowed his gaze at the young man, noting the smile that wouldn't quite disappear and the mischievous glint in his eyes. Perhaps Mycroft had briefed him on Sherlock's behavior as well because Evan was normally quite obedient. Smiling softly, John kept his hold gentle as he moved to speak right next to Evan's ear. Once his face was hidden from Evan's gaze, he suddenly gripped the curls tightly and tugged, wiping the smirk from the young face as he pulled hard enough to nearly bend the young man backwards, only the tautness of the lead pulling at the leather collar keeping him upright. John growled softly in one ear, "Cheek, will get you punished good and proper. Now, once again, your safeword." He gave another sharp tug to emphasize his point and reveled in the sharp gasp. "And do not toy with me, pet. I should not be having to ask twice as it is."

Evan blinked once then quickly lowered his eyes, a soft whimper escaping as he became immediately penitent. "R-red, sir. My safeword is red."

John released him and stepped back again, satisfied with his answer; red was the word he had always used before. He gave a sharp nod as he spoke, "We will wait for Mister Holmes to join us. You will remain silent and in position until I address you. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir." The reply was swift, then nothing further as the boy complied.

John turned his back, effectively ignoring, for the time being, the Sherlock look-alike he was to play with tonight. _Be truthful John, you chose him to play with because he looks like Sherlock._ He growled to himself as he tugged off his gloves one by one and threw them onto one of the small tables. Like he needed his conscience to chirp in even more tonight. He began to unbutton his jacket, taking in deep breaths through his nose in an effort to refocus his mind on what they were doing. He had a responsibility to Evan, as well as to himself, and that had to take precedence over any thoughts about the situation with Sherlock. By the time he shed his jacket and lay it over the back of the black leather chaise, his thoughts were entirely in the here and now. He was perusing their supply of toys, deciding how he wanted to proceed with the evening when Mycroft stepped into the lounge.

"I've taken care of our orders for food and drinks. They should arrive in fifteen to twenty minutes."

John smiled, "Thank you love. Why don't you go and relax while I get things ready. No need to be in much of a rush tonight is there?"

Mycroft gave him a brief kiss before replying. "Not at all. Tonight is for your enjoyment so take all the time you desire." Turning away from John and moving towards one of the leather wingback chairs, he eyed the kneeling sub, struck anew by the remarkable resemblance. Geoffrey was certainly a master at his chosen profession. Mycroft removed his own jacket and gloves leaving them beside John's, then took his seat, relaxing back into the chair with his legs crossed and his hands clasped over his knee. His gaze turned to John as he contemplated what he might choose to do tonight. The Captain was very different from himself as a Dom, but always a bit surprising and exciting to watch.

John smirked to himself as Mycroft walked off; tonight was certainly going to be fun. Selections made, John strode purposefully over to the waiting sub, leaving his supplies on the edge of the dais behind the sub's back. Standing in front of the young man with his legs shoulder width apart and his arms crossed over his chest to indicate his readiness, John waited; watching the subtle tension shifting through Evan's shoulders and body as the anticipation built.

"I believe I owe you a punishment. I refuse to tolerate cheek from a sub." Evan glanced up at his words but dropped his gaze without saying a word. "I prefer to handle this matter now, though should you be foolish enough to earn further punishment, I shall not hesitate to mete it out. Do you understand?"

Evan nodded his head as he replied, "Yes sir."

John walked around the sub until he stood behind him. Placing one hand squarely between the narrow shoulders, he pushed until Evan's head rested on the floor and his arse was in the air. He reached for his supplies, noting a clear sheen already obvious around the sub's arsehole as he snapped on a latex glove and grabbed a packet of lube. Spreading the cheeks suddenly with one hand, he trailed a gloved finger over the moist pucker before slapping the upturned arse sharply.

"Have you already been used tonight?"

Evan gasped at the sudden blow but answered quickly. "N-no sir."

A second blow stung the other cheek. "Don't lie to me!"

A soft whine sounded this time and the sub's cock twitched where it hung between his legs. "I'm not sir. I only prepared myself for you. There has been no one, only you."

John hmmed over that answer as he squirted some lube onto his fingers. He shoved two into the lubed arsehole to verify the sub's words; enjoying the needy moan as he worked them in and out quickly. He ignored the groan as he removed his fingers and began to lube up the toy now in his hand. "Excellent. We can proceed immediately then." Without further warning, he pushed the thick plug into the waiting hole as Evan groaned again. John worked the plug in and out a couple of times before settling it firmly in place and withdrawing. It was not overly large, just thick enough to stretch and burn a bit; John's goal being pleasurable torment rather than pain. Pulling off the glove as he stood, John disposed of it in the small rubbish bin before returning to the sub.

He had to admit, the sight of the sub alone made his cock begin to thicken in his trousers. An image of Sherlock in the same pose with his lush arse reddened by his hand, bowed and waiting for his use, arose unbidden in his mind; quickly superimposing itself over the real life image of Evan. John's cock throbbed sharply in desire before he could blink the fantasy away and focus on Evan. Swallowing thickly John marshalled control of his voice as he stepped in front of the sub once more.

"That should do nicely." John knelt to release the lead from it's hook in the floor, giving a tug as he spoke, "To your feet." Evan stood quickly; well accustomed to being plugged, the toy hardly slowed his obedience to the Dom. "Hands behind your back," John commanded as soon as the sub was on his feet. Leaving the lead hanging, John procured thick, black leather cuffs from their supplies and locked the wrists together, allowing the slim forearms to overlap slightly. John trailed his palms over pale shoulders and biceps, drifting down until he could grip the bound wrists firmly for a moment. Releasing the wrists, he moved to stand in front of the pale chest, brushing his fingers over the throat and collar, collarbone and pectorals, until he reached the taut nipples already eager for his attention. He rubbed them firmly with his thumbs before pinching sharply. His famous Captain Watson grin spreading across his face as the sub winced and panted softly, his cock pulsing with the increasing beat of his heart as his skin flushed pink, while John increased the pressure and tugged each nipple roughly. When they were reddened and standing stiff, John reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of nipple clamps. Pinching up each nipple in turn, he quickly clipped the clamps onto the areolas before stepping back to admire his handiwork.

John caught movement in his peripheral vision and glanced just enough to catch Mycroft shifting in his seat, attempting to discreetly adjust himself in his trousers. He couldn't stop his smirk then. Just as well his fiance would be participating in the punishment it seemed. Mycroft might have manipulated the situation tonight but John was perfectly capable of playing that game as well.

Looking back to Evan, he gave a slight tug on the chain hanging between the swollen nipples. "Walk." John turned and moved towards Mycroft, the sub following. When he stood in front of the staid looking official, John spoke again but addressed himself to his fiance. "Spread your legs love." Mycroft barely hid his surprise, then raised an eyebrow at John as he spread his legs slightly. "A bit more love, there isn't room." Mycroft glanced at the waiting sub then back at John before spreading his thighs further. John smiled and puckered his lips miming a kiss, "Thank you My. That should be perfect."

John tugged Evan forward and pointed to the floor between Mycroft's thighs. "Kneel." He continued to speak while the sub obeyed. "Since this is your punishment, you will not be allowed a cushion. Be a good boy and take your punishment well and you shall have it for the rest of the evening. Now you will suck Mister Holmes while I spank you. The plug and clamps will remain in place for the duration. The sooner Mister Holmes gets off, the sooner your punishment ends so do your best." John stepped away to retrieve the small leather paddle he left lying on the edge of the dais, then stepped back to the waiting pair.

Mycroft glanced up at John, someone was obviously in the mood for a bit of exhibitionism tonight as no effort had been made to draw the curtains to their area closed. Not that he was opposed, they merely didn't play publicly that often. The expression on his face clearly conveyed his message to John; his quirked smile, tilted head, and raised eyebrow unmistakable. _Do not think this gets your own arse off the hook tonight._

John smiled, understanding perfectly as he nodded, his own expression clearly read by his lover also. _I wouldn't hear of it._

Mycroft's gave a soft smile in return before his face grew serious, focusing on the sub. He unfastened his trousers, spreading his flies and pushing his pants down just enough to release his cock and bollocks. He was half hard from simply watching John and a few strokes of his hand had him at full mast. He lazily pulled a condom from the drawer of the table beside his chair and tore the wrapper open, preparing to roll it into place. He was surprised instead, when John took the condom from him. Both Mycroft and Evan watched with keen interest as John carefully removed the wrapper. Holding the latex cap by the edges between his fingertips, John leaned over Evan's shoulder and gingerly placed it on the very tip of Mycroft's shaft. He didn't bother to issue a command; meeting Evan's gaze, he nodded towards him then to the condom, indicating just what he wanted the sub to do. Being restrained, Evan had no other options but to use his mouth to roll the condom onto the waiting shaft. He moaned softly as he shifted forward to do just as his Dom desired. Resting both arms against the armrest, Mycroft sat back to enjoy the sub's ministrations. He looked back up, meeting John's gaze as the sub eagerly moved forward and lowered his mouth over Mycroft's thick cock. Evan had actually done this before, though Mister Holmes had rather a larger cock than the one he had done it on the last time. Undeterred and eager to please, he pursed his lips and pushed the condom down, using his tongue to help unfurl it as he went. He kept at it steadily until the condom reached its limit and he was unable to avoid gagging as the bulbous head pressed into the back of his throat and filled his mouth. He pulled off momentarily, sipping back the drool that spilled from his mouth and taking a deep breath before he moved over the shaft once more.

"Nicely done, pet! Very well done." John's fingers stroked through the tousled curls again as he praised the sub's skill. John was watching with avid interest as the sub put on the condom, seeing Mycroft flex and squeeze his buttocks in the chair and knowing he was quite pleased with the display as well as the corresponding sensations. He smiled, his interest only heightened as he watched Evan began to suck Mycroft, his cheeks flushed a light pink from his own arousal at the sight. He didn't often involve Mycroft in their play in this way, the dual stimulation of an obedient sub and an aroused lover nearly too much for one evening. But with the build up of frustrations he currently had, he was feeling more adventurous.

The subtle clearing of Mycroft's throat reminded him that he was neglecting his duties. He met the dilated gaze of his fiance, shrugging in chagrin before raising the leather paddle and bringing it down with a loud smack on Evan's upturned arse. A low groan sounded from the sub and vibrated around Mycroft's cock, the ginger closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the chair with a soft moan of pleasure. John took it all in and drew his hand back for another strike, his own cock throbbing in sympathy as their play continued.

{*} {*} {*}

Sherlock had a flicker of suspicion when he saw the dressing area and the collared man but he had discounted what he saw, unable to reconcile his John with the deductions he was making. Those doubts were rapidly dispelled when he stepped through the curtains. Though he had never frequented such a place for his own pleasure, he certainly had had numerous occasions to enter sex clubs for cases, even more so while he was away. The decor was a mixture of leather, velvet, and chrome, shades of black and red echoed everywhere. His eyes flickered around the large area, quickly taking in his surroundings. Nearly every form of fetish garb was represented on the patrons scattered around the sofas and cushions in the public area. A Shibari demonstration was underway on the mainstage, and various activities were visible both on the floor level and within the lounges that ringed three fifths of the room, though some had their curtains closed for privacy. The bar and stage took up the last sections, completing the circuit of the main room.

Near the bar he spotted Mycroft, speaking to a server of some kind. Sherlock ducked behind a large statue near the entrance and looked around once more, searching for John specifically. He spotted him finally in one of the lounges, the man now naked and kneeling at John's feet. He suffered an unreasonable urge to go yank the man away from John but he remained hidden and observed all he could. When he saw John grab the man's hair and pull his head up, there was a decided pulse of interest in his own nether regions. Even from across the expansive area, he could recognise Captain Watson. He could not see clearly when John walked away from the man who remained as he was, but his attention was diverted by Mycroft concluding his business and moving towards the lounge himself.

Sherlock waited until his brother entered the lounge with John before he slipped out of his hiding place and moved towards the bar. He ordered a drink, flashing his new card for the charge. Then in an effort to blend in better, he loosened his scarf and unbuttoned his coat as well as the top buttons of his shirt. He leaned against the bar nursing his drink and appearing to observe the room at large though his discreet focus remained on the lounge with John and Mycroft. He watched the Captain with the apparently submissive man, his own arousal growing with each new thing John did despite being interrupted every few minutes by another patron propositioning him. He had put each one off with the assertion that he was merely observing tonight though he did not know how long he could keep it up without his frustrations getting the better of him. It wouldn't do to cause a scene; not only would he get kicked out but John and Mycroft would notice. When John moved away from the center of the lounge and back towards where Mycroft sat, he could no longer see clearly. He was just moving to find a more advantageous viewing spot when a low voice stopped him.

"Mister Holmes." Sherlock turned to face the man he had seen with Mycroft earlier, it was not difficult to deduce that he was face to face with the proprietor. "Anne informed me that you were in the house tonight. It is an honour to finally meet you."

Sherlock had stuffed his gloves in his pockets when he ordered his drink, remembering Anne's warning he simply inclined his head in greeting. "Mister St. James, I presume."

The man smiled warmly, "Geoffrey, please. Your brother and Doctor Watson are two of our best patrons. I hope we may see more of you now that you have decided to darken our doors at last." Sherlock merely shrugged noncommittally but Geoffrey was undeterred. "You have disappointed many of our guests by denying them your company tonight. Everyone seems most eager to play with you." Geoffrey eyed Sherlock up and down, his gaze darting briefly up to the lounge holding Mycroft, John, and the specially requested sub. Two and two quickly making four in the man's head. "I can't say that I can blame them, Mister Holmes. You are certainly a breath of fresh air among the guests."

Sherlock smiled his best 'being a real person' smile as he replied. "But every new toy will rapidly lose its appeal with overuse. I'm sure you can understand me pacing myself."

Geoffrey acknowledged the truth of his statement with a nod. "Well, should you have any requests or find that you need anything, don't hesitate to call on me."

Sherlock gave a slight bow, "Certainly...Geoffrey." The tall man looked him over once more then nodded briefly in parting, moving on to oversee the rest of his guests. Sherlock waited just long enough to be certain he would not be stopped again and continued to move along the outer wall towards the short set of steps that accessed the upper tier.

{*} {*} {*}

It had only been a few minutes but John knew Mycroft was getting close. He was always on edge after these trips without him there for relief. That was one of the reasons he chose to include him tonight in this way.

John had also kept up a steady but irregular pattern of swats to Evan's arse, never consistent enough for the sub to anticipate the strikes. As a result, the sub moaned steadily around the cock in his mouth, rutting unconsciously back and forth seeking his own release, swollen prick swinging between his legs with the movements while his fingers clenched and released where the remained bound. John admired his handiwork, buttocks and upper thighs colored a beautiful rosy red. He knew the subs movements were also causing the nipple clamps to shift and pull as well, increasing the stimulus the sub was receiving. It was time to wrap up this part of their play before pleasure began to bleed over into pain.

John raised his eyes, enjoying the sight of Mycroft enjoying himself; head thrown back, eyes closed and fingers gripping the armrests tightly as he tried to hold out. A slight growl from the Captain prompted him to open his eyes. John smiled warmly, winked, and gave a nod down at the sub, indicating his desire to end the punishment. Mycroft gave a sharp nod and brought his hands to the dark head, gripping the curls tightly and beginning to fuck harshly up into the sub's mouth and throat.

Evan groaned loudly and his body actually relaxed, allowing himself to be used though he still did his best to lick and suck the thrusting cock.

John had to reach down the press against his own neglected erection, enjoying the sight before him and the wet sounds of slick movement and slurping. With that brief bit of relief, John brandished his leather paddle once more, now raining down short rapid blows to the upturned arse. He leaned forward, rubbing his free hand over the sensitive chest and clamped nipples as he spoke to Evan.

"You look exquisite like this you know? Utterly submitting to the use of others. You've done so well, pet. Taken your punishment beautifully. I am so very proud of you. Almost finished now...he's close. You can bear it a few more moments for me, can't you my beauty?" Evan grunted and managed to give a small nod around Mycroft's cock battering his throat. "Good. That's very good, pet." John glanced up at Mycroft and got a brief nod indicating his orgasm was close. The smacks continued to the reddened cheeks while John reached forward once more, deftly releasing the nipple clamps and letting them fall to the floor just before he gripped the sub's cock tightly at the base. Evan let out a loud whine as the blood rushed back into his abused flesh and any hope of his own relief was crushed. That was enough to push Mycroft over the edge, grunting softly and still thrusting his way through the aftershocks.

The blows immediately stopped and John began to rub his hand soothingly over the heated flesh while he still held firm on the sub's cock. "There now. All done. You've done so well. So very good for me tonight." Evan whimpered and tried to hold himself still, waiting for his arousal to subside. "I know, I know. It hurts a bit doesn't it, aches so bad. I'll make you feel better pet, I promise. But I never said you would be allowed to come yet...not from your punishment."

Mycroft finally released the sub's head and flopped back into his seat, catching his breath before gingerly removing the condom and disposing of it in the bin. He had just tucked himself in and refastened his trousers when a discreet knock sounded at the entrance to their lounge. It was merely a courtesy since those knocking could clearly see inside the space, willful blindness was practiced here unless you were invited in. John was already helping the sub to his feet and moving him over to the chaise to care for his aches and pains so Mycroft replied for them.

"You may enter."

Two servers entered with a small trolley carrying their food. Geoffrey saw no point in a regular restaurant as part of the club, instead the club served the best tapas you could find in the greater London area. Numerous small dishes awaited them, along with chilled bottles of water, juice and their drinks. Alcohol was not taken in excess when they played but they would each indulge in a scotch or a wine with their food. Once the cart was delivered the servers bowed out without a word. Mycroft passed a bottle of water with a straw to John, then he took his own glass of wine and waited for the other two.

John left the plug in place but released the cuffs before encouraging Evan to lie down on his stomach. He covered the young man with a soft blanket, moving it as needed while he tended his sub. His dual roles as a Dom and a doctor would not let him forego checking the boy over carefully, even though he knew without a doubt that Evan would have stopped him if he needed to. A quick check of shoulders, arms, and legs assured any stiffness was minimal. John offered the water when Mycroft passed it over, holding it to Evan's lips while he took a long drink.

"Thank you sir," he offered softly.

John combed his fingers through the dark curls and encouraged the man to lie back down while he finished his care. He pulled out a small tub of thick white cream. Evan hissed softly when John dabbed the cooling cream over his heated cheeks before beginning to massage it into his abused skin. The cold was a striking contrast to the heat in his arse and within moments the sub sighed in relief. When John had finished rubbing in all of the cream, he tucked the blanket around Evan snugly. He offered another drink of water and stroked the curls once more.

"Rest. When you feel ready, come and kneel on the cushion by my chair. We will have a bit to eat before we continue." Evan nodded and closed his eye while John returned to his chair, pausing long enough to give Mycroft a lingering kiss before taking his seat.

Mycroft watched John take a sip of his scotch before grabbing a braised sparerib off one of the small plates. "Well, that certainly was…"

"Satisfying?" John interrupted with a crooked smile.

"I was going to say different. But my appetite is, as you say, sated." John smirked, dropping the clean rib bone onto an empty plate before reaching for a bite of cheese with pear chutney. Mycroft narrowed his eyes on his smug fiance, remaining silent until the good doctor met his gaze again. "Sated for the time being, dear. Do not think I shall be done in so easily, it has been a very long week...for both of us."

John's smile only grew, "Never, love. I am well acquainted with your stamina and appetite after all." He sighed, glancing over briefly to check on Evan who dozed lightly. At least for now he was relaxed and content, his mind adequately diverted from the previous week.

"Feeling better I take it?"

The nod preceded the words, "Yes. Thank you, My. This really was exactly what I needed. I don't think we've been since before…" John bit off his words, cursing that he couldn't seem to get through one conversation, let alone an entire evening without Sherlock coming up. No matter how hard he tried.

Mycroft didn't bat an eye, picking right up where John left off. "Before Sherlock returned home. You are correct, we have not been in weeks now." He didn't push the topic, this evening was meant to be a distraction. Well, as far as John knew, it was. They were both spared dwelling on the topic by the silent approach of Evan. Mycroft watched the young man, admiring the sub as he went to John and dropped gracefully onto the thick cushion by John's feet.

John's free hand immediately went to the dark curls once Evan came to rest by his side. A gentle tug brought the sub's head onto his thigh, John stroking tenderly while he selected food to offer the sub. Evan eagerly accepted bits of beef, cheese, and fruit from the Dom's hand, letting his tongue lick the calloused fingers or suck away juices when the digits lingered for his mouth. John continued to talk with Mycroft over inconsequential things, taking his own bites between offerings; the Captain particularly enjoyed the indulgent aspects of his nature by feeding and caring for the sub.

John was therefore unprepared when Evan caught two of his fingers in his mouth and began to suck with more force, pushing his head further into the Dom's lap to take the fingers deeper. John glanced down only to be jolted sharply by the combined force of memory and sensation. Seeing only dark curls and a head moving purposefully in his lap, his mind substituted Sherlock eagerly sucking his fingers the night at the hospital and rutting against his thigh. John sucked in a soft gasp as his cock swiftly hardened in his pants and the fingers of his free hand tightened unconsciously in the mop of hair as he began to thrust his fingers into the warm, wet mouth, his voice coming out husky with rising passion.

"Ooo, we're a greedy little slut tonight aren't we? Tired of waiting for another cock in that mouth are you? I wonder what else you want." John was murmuring softly down at the dark head, a degree of tenderness creeping into his voice as he continued to see Sherlock in his mind's eye still taking his fingers in hungrily.

Mycroft took note of the change, cocking his head and studying John carefully. The Captain didn't notice, lost in his erotic memory. But then Evan raised his head, glancing up at John with heat in his brown eyes as he continued to suck.

_Brown eyes? Wrong eyes. Sherlock?_ _Fuck!_

John blinked, his vision shifting until he was once more looking at Evan's face before him. He ignored the sudden sense of disappointment and managed to smile as he drew his fingers away from the suckling mouth, cupping the sub's face instead. "You do seem to be determined to cause mischief tonight, don't you?"

"No sir. Only to give you pleasure." Evan stated readily.

John sat back, glancing over at Mycroft with a forced wink. "Well in that case, we should move things along here." Evan beamed, rising up and reaching for John's flies before the hand tightened once again in his hair and pulled hard. "When and how I say, pet. Remember yourself. Kneel and stay." John rose and headed for the lav. He needed a small break to collect himself...this thing with Sherlock was getting out of hand.

Mycroft watched him go, a pensive expression on his face. Though it was covered well, he noticed the change when John looked at Evan and appeared surprised. The manipulation seemed to be working, he simply wished John would not struggle so with himself over the obvious. He glanced over at the sub, still kneeling beside John's chair, head bowed, and hands in his lap; waiting for the Dom to return. It would not be fair to say Mycroft doubted his own wisdom in this matter. No, he was certain his actions were needed. Rather, it was the yet to be determined outcome that twisted his stomach into knots. He had been absolutely honest with John since their relationship began and his necessary manipulations now felt anything but honest.

{*} {*} {*}

Sherlock had taken the steps two at a time, topping the short stairs and finding himself standing exposed on the walkway in front of the lounges. From here, John or Mycroft, either one could see him. A practiced sweep of his surroundings found the lounge behind him to be empty, the curtains partially drawn and the lights off. He ducked inside and hide behind the heavy curtain; from here he could see John and Mycroft clearly, the semi-circular design working in his favor. He couldn't hear what they were saying but this would do for now.

He watched John's interactions with the sub; seething with a feeling he couldn't quite define as he saw _his_ John touching someone that wasn't him so intimately. He could ignore Mycroft, for the most part, he was well used to doing so already. But this man was a complete stranger and had John's attention in a way he himself craved, only to be denied. Sherlock's eyes widened as he watched the things John did to the young man, a foreign feeling curling in his lower abdomen.

When John led the sub over to Mycroft and had him kneel between his brother's legs, he groaned in disgust. As if he cared about his brother's kinks, he needed to know about John and how all of this tied into his relationship with his brother. So he ignored Mycroft completely, focusing on John and what he was doing. The paddling was straightforward, though Sherlock couldn't see the appeal, his recent travels too fresh in his mind to consider such a thing as pleasurable. He watched John, his infinite attention both to Mycroft's pleasure and the man submitting to his ministrations; the absolute control he maintained over the scene as it played out.

But it was what happened after the sex that struck a chord with Sherlock, observing John's tenderness and care, the obvious soothing and petting as he checked the sub and tended to his inflamed cheeks. No wonder the sub was smiling, he would be blissfully happy too if he had John fawning over him. But it didn't stop there. He paid careful attention as the young man knelt beside John once again, only to be petted some more and fed from John's own hand. That less pleasant feeling reared his head once more as he tried to understand why he could not be the one receiving John's ministrations instead of this stranger. Sherlock's mind latched onto this thought, beginning to consider an aspect never had before; trying to imagine himself in the other man's place.

He had offered John his body and had been refused. As he watched the two men interact, the conscious give and take, he had the barest glimpse that there was something more to this _fetish_ than he originally thought. He had never given the practices of the people who frequented these places much thought. Only what was required to solve the case at hand at the time. He turned his attention back across the lower room, most of the patrons were not even engaged in sex, though various acts of an intimate nature could be observed. Something was gained from this by all parties beyond the carnal pleasure itself.

He looked back at John, recalling how he had found him the night he returned home. Ignoring the arousal he felt at the memory, he tried to puzzle through his own pitiful deductions. John was not in charge that night, allowing himself to be used and dominated by Mycroft, a complete surprise to Sherlock, but his friend was utterly happy and content as he was that night. That much was evident. That evening it had been Mycroft who cared for John with tenderness and affection. Tonight John was the one in charge, Mycroft merely standing by...observing yes, but only joining in with the sub if John dictated it. Tonight's John was much more like the strong military Captain, Sherlock thought of as his, yet both men were the same. The deductions were still trickling as slow as molasses but pieces were slowly moving into place.

He thought of all he had learned of John's life and behavior after his supposed demise; the turmoil he had suffered. Was it possible that John needed some solace from his own torment, just as Sherlock did now? Did Mycroft give that to John? Was that how he saved him? Did he keep John alive by taking control when he was no longer capable of functioning? Sherlock did not possess the definitive answers but he knew he was on the right track now. John needed Mycroft just as he needs John. The problem still being how to get what he needed.

He could have lingered there all night with his thoughts but movement drew his attention back to the lounge. Apparently the next act of the evening was preparing to start.

{*} {*} {*}

John splashed the cool water over his face for the third time, scrubbing his hands over his face as though that would shake his thoughts into some rational state. Finally he straightened, facing himself in the mirror. "Okay. Fine. You want Sherlock. You've always wanted Sherlock, nothing new there." He glanced around the lav, just in case anyone was listening to him talk to himself. "The question is what do you intend to do about it?" Nothing had always been his default answer, but between Mycroft and his own treacherous mind, that was not going to be an option for much longer. He worked his jaw in frustration before glaring at his reflection once more. "Fine! Just...fine. You will sit down with Sherlock and Mycroft both, very soon, and discuss this insanity. But right now, you are here and that is _not_ Sherlock waiting for you out there." A cursory check of his appearance and a sharp nod, then Captain Watson turned smartly on his heel and exited the lav, determined to retake control of this evening.

Evan was waiting just as he had left him. John ignored Mycroft, marching over to grasp the sub's collar, tugging sharply as he commanded. "Up." Evan scrambled to comply, following readily as John pulled him over to the dais once more. "Kneel." The command rang out sharply and the sub dropped to his knees before the Dom, a delicious shudder passing over him at the sudden forcefulness.

John gripped the dark curls once again, pulling the sub's face against his crotch, rubbing his cloth-covered cock against one cheek as he spoke. "Is this what you've been waiting for pet? Not had nearly enough yet, have you? Want some more cock."

Evan was inhaling deeply as the thick cock rutted against his face, attempting to turn his face enough to mouth the hard shaft through the fabric but prevented by the hand in his hair. He moaned as he looked up at the Dom and answered. "Yes, please sir. I want your cock. It's such a big lovely cock sir. Use me, please. Fuck me sir."

It was a tempting thought but John had other plans. Holding up the small remote he had been keeping in his pocket all evening, he replied. "You already know that isn't going to happen. Mister Holmes and I don't play that way." Evan groaned beneath him but John only switched sides and thrust his cock more firmly against the other cheek. "I will however, fuck that pretty mouth of yours. I'll even allow you to remain unbound, let you use your hands to please me. Now if you are able to stay focused and not get distracted from your task by my little toy…" John hit the control and a powerful vibration rippled through the plug still wedged firmly in Evan's arse causing a harsh gasp to escape the sub, tapering into a pleased moan. "As I said, if you can remain focused, I will allow you to come and help as well. Should you lose focus, I shall still allow you to come but you will have to do so untouched. Are my conditions clear?" He pulsed the plug once again, watching Evan tremble while he shakily nodded and answered.

"Y-yes sir. Perfectly clear."

John clicked the remote off for the moment. "Then I suggest you don't keep me waiting." He let go of Evan's hair and dropped his hands to his sides. He didn't have to worry as the sub scrambled to unfasten his trousers. Evan was already pulling out John's hardened cock when John cleared his throat pointedly. The sub looked up, groaning in disappointment when he saw the condom John held in his hand.

Evan eyed the flushed cock in his hands, licking his lips as his mouth watered. He had quite the oral fixation and he desperately wanted to taste the Dom's cock, feel the unbuffered heat in his mouth. He was so tempted to simply lean forward and take the waiting shaft down in one go and damn the consequences.

John might not know his deductions but he knew his subs. He could see Evan's thoughts plain as day. He waited for the moment before the sub moved to act on his desires, tapping him lightly on the bridge of his nose. "Ah-ah-ah. I wouldn't do that pet. You know my rules." He held the condom down to the young man and smirked at the barely contained disappointment as it was taken.

Scant moments later and John sighed as his long neglected arousal disappeared into the moist heat of Evan's mouth. He let the sub work his shaft for a few minutes, moaning happily as one hand curled around the base of his cock and one palming his bollocks while the mouth hollowed and sucked over him. Just as they established a rhythm, John began to play with the remote. Light, strong, slow, fast, shifting the vibrations at random. Despite moaning loudly around the cock in his mouth, Evan was not deterred from his task. John smiled, reaching down to stroke the curls once more. "That's it pet. You're doing very well. I'm going to fuck you now. Fuck that greedy little mouth and watch you choke on that big cock you crave so much." Evan's eyes fell closed with a low groan as he nodded slightly around the cock in his mouth, eager to continue and please his Dom.

Mycroft had been watching them both avidly, well aware of the change in John's attitude since he returned from the lav. He caught the slight jerk of John's head, signaling him over just as he gripped the sub's head and began thrusting into his mouth and throat. He stepped over to the dias following John's gaze to the plug in the sub's arse.

"Give our pet a little help there will you. He's been such a good boy for us tonight don't you agree?" John clipped out as he continued fucking into the sub, his pleasure mounting.

Mycroft's lip curled in his signature sneer as he knelt behind the sub and began to press and pull the plug, pulsing it steadily against the sub's prostate. He looked up into John's eyes, both of them recalling the afternoon at the manor, not so long ago when he pleasured John this way.

John's hips stuttered sharply in remembered arousal and he moaned as the sub gagged around his cock. He pulled back to a reasonable depth, continuing to fuck the willing mouth as he hit the remote again.

Evan whined loudly, his hips rocking back and forth with Mycroft's ministrations and the added stimulation of the vibrations. He did not want to risk displeasing his Dom at this point, so he brought his hands up to grip the muscular arse as it pumped the thick cock down his throat, kneading and squeezing the taut muscles to his Dom's groan of pleasure.

John was getting closer and with his signal, Mycroft reached around to grasp the sub's cock, stroking in time with the plug and John's thrusts. The sub keened loudly, causing an echoing moan from John as they drew closer to completion.

{*} {*} {*}

Sherlock had watched John drag the sub over to the small platform again. He could see the look on John's face but the deductions he was reaching were incomplete. He needed to be nearer. Carefully, he slipped from his hiding spot and moved closer to the lounge that held the trio he was observing so intently. He stopped just before the entrance to the lounge, the thick curtain still shielding him from view somewhat, especially since Mycroft's back was to him now and their attention was elsewhere. Though if either of them chose to look up now, he would be spotted.

He had heard John's crass statements to the submissive man just as he began to fuck rather roughly into the man's mouth. He observed Mycroft's actions, driving the sub to greater heights of pleasure. But it was John that held his gaze. Perfect, gorgeous John, taking his pleasure from the man at his feet. Sherlock took in the brow furrowed in concentration, the fine sheen of sweat, the muscles flexing and bulging beneath his tailored clothes, and finally the glorious thickness of John's swollen red cock, saliva slicked and thrusting in and out of the sub's throat. He was suddenly struck with the visceral desire to be the man on the receiving end of that beautiful cock, despite his personal inexperience. In a matter of moments he became aware of his own pronounced arousal now revived from earlier in the evening. Almost without thought he reached up and grasped the heavy curtain at his side, searching for something to steady himself as he spied on the trio, his own arousal pulled along by the heated display.

{*} {*} {*}

John was getting close, his orgasm nearing the boiling point, when a flicker of movement caught his eye. He glanced up and nearly froze in shock. He knew better than to be surprised by the antics of his best friend but the last thing he expected to see was Sherlock standing just outside their lounge. The detective's face was flushed a faint pink, his cupid's bow lips parted with his respirations, the most damning evidence of the detective's current state being the obvious bulge distending the front of his tailored trousers. Sherlock was watching him with the sub and he was clearly aroused.

The sight caused a vicious spike in John's own arousal. Well aware that he wouldn't last much longer, he caught Sherlock's eye with his own knowing gaze while he spoke. Thrusting deep into Evan's mouth he practically purred, "Is that what you want pet? Want every inch of that thick cock you can get?"

Sherlock's eyes darted from John down to the sub nodding slightly then back again. He shifted his feet trying to relieved his own erection trapped within the confines of his clothing but never let his attention waver from John's piercing stare.

John was decidedly turned on by his newfound audience. He clutched the dark hair tight with one hand but let the one nearest Sherlock drift down until he could wrap it around the front of the sub's throat, groaning dramatically as he thrust home again and felt his cock distending the flesh beneath his hand. His eyes closed momentarily in absolute bliss, only to snap open and pin Sherlock once again.

"Yes. You like that, don't you? Greedy little sluts like you can never get enough cock, can you?" Evan's moans were becoming desperate and John was on the edge himself.

Sherlock was eyeing them both, shifting his hips from side to side for any bit of friction or relief, but steadfastly refusing to touch himself in public, let alone with John watching. Mycroft had detected the change in John's demeanor but had no reason to panic since John did not appear deterred in any way. Instead, he gradually shifted until he could glimpse in the direction John was looking. His eyes widened in surprise though he could not say he was shocked that they had been followed. He continued on as John wished, watching Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, seeing everything.

"Are you ready to come, pet?" Evan whined loudly in agreement. "Yes, you need it don't you? Alright then, you've been so good for me tonight, just perfect." John thumbed the remote in his hand to high just as Mycroft ground the plug into Evan's arse. "Go ahead, come for me pet. Come for me now."

After the prolonged arousal of the evening and the denial of release earlier, Evan's orgasm erupted from his flushed cock on command, his fingers clenched tightly on the Dom's arse and his guttural cries were muffled by the cock now thrusting harshly into his mouth and throat. The effect was staggering and Evan could only cling to the Dom until the torrent subsided.

Sherlock wasn't aware of nodding his head when John asked the sub if he was ready, despite the rhythmic throbbing in his groin, he wasn't even aware that he was so close either. The combination of sight and sound was far more stimulating than anything he had ever witnessed before though he couldn't pinpoint the difference that made it so, beyond John's presence. All he knew was that when his eyes met John's and his Captain commanded 'come for me now', he did.

Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, clung to the drapery in a exclusive sex club and came in his pants so forcefully that his knees buckled beneath him. Leaving him spent, shocked, and unsettled on the floor of the club under the stunned gaze of his friend and his brother.

John had groaned loudly as Evan's orgasms crested, increasing the stimulation to his cock tenfold. But his eyes were glued to Sherlock, he held on to Evan's curls and watched as the detective came apart before his eyes, utterly blindsided by his own orgasm. John watched the detective sink to his knees, still trying to work out what had happened. Knowing that he had caused that to happen, he had brought Sherlock Holmes to his knees without even touching him. That was the final straw that tipped the Dom over the edge. Sherlock's name escaped his mouth in a silent gasp while his own orgasm wracked his body and he shuddered with pleasure, still thrusting into Evan's mouth as the aftershocks nearly blinded him to his surroundings. When he could focus once more, pulling his spent cock from the sub's abused mouth and cradling the dark head against his hip as they both began to recover, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Yes, I took WAY too long to get this chapter posted. And YES, I apologize profusely. Real life is slowly getting better but I can't begin to tell you how hard it was to get this chapter pulled out of my brain and on the page. I am always more grateful to **Ireland** **Spades** than she knows for all of her help and encouragement to keep at it. :-D All of my other updates have waited because of this fic. I flat out refused to work on anything else after the fests I did until I finished this update. Now it is here and it is huge and I can only hope you enjoy the continuing story because there is still much to come as I can get to it. And Thankfully, my other updates are once more in progress. Please enjoy! :) Cynthia

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